What Ifs and Maybes
by Dragons Weyr
Summary: A series of one-shots. Some are expansions on scenes of the movie. Some are AUs. Some are 'extra' scenes. These could all be read on their own but I'm lazy and don't want to post just a bunch of stories.
1. Shred of Proof

**Title:** Shred of Proof

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** mention of murder (par for the course with Coco fanfics)

 **Spoilers:** Some. If you haven't watched the movie, why are you reading this?

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This always happens. I get sucked into yet another fandom and just reading fics gets me wanting to write some. This is just going to be a series of one-shots that honestly could be read on their own, but I'm going to be lazy and post under one 'story'. Please don't expect too many up-dates. Also, I claim absolutely _NO_ knowledge of Spanish. I am a white white Canadian. Any Spanish I know is from reading Coco fanfics and guessing what words mean from context.

* * *

André Ramirez was a man of scholastic merit and esteem. He was head of the history department at UNAM, the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. While his particular field was linguistics, his chief hobby was in the study of the life and songs of the late esteemed _músico_ Ernesto de la Cruz. André had no musical talent himself, but found the study of the man's songs fascinating. He had become the top-most expert on de la Cruz and anyone who wanted to know anything about him always ended up coming to André Ramirez for answers.

So it was not surprising when he received an email from his cousin's family in Santa Cecilia mention that particular topic. What _was_ surprising was the actual subject matter. If he had read the email correctly, there was someone in Santa Cecilia that was claiming that an ancestor of his family was the actual songwriter behind Ernesto de la Cruz's songs. It was a ludicrous claim. _Everyone_ knew that de la Cruz wrote all his own songs. But apparently this Miguel Rivera also claimed he had proof otherwise.

André had written back, inquiring about this proof and had received a reply with a series of scanned handwritten letters attached. And to his amazement, the letters did indeed contain the words to all of Ernesto de la Cruz's songs. And more to the point, none of the handwriting matched de la Cruz's. And all the dates were from a time before the _músico_ had started to become famous. If the dates were correct and the letters authentic, they could indeed prove this Miguel's claim. André would have to see the actual letters in person to verify that.

Unfortunately his work at the university kept him in México City. He just could not manage his schedule enough to make the trip to Santa Cecilia. However it was agreed that the letters would be brought to him, but it would have to wait until the winter break since apparently Miguel Rivera was still in school. As eager as he was, André Ramirez would never demand that a student miss classes.

So it was on the first day of January that there was a knock on the door of his small apartment not far from the university. André was a little startled by who was on the other side. There was an older man perhaps about his age, thick-set with a paunch, thinning hair, and a thick moustache. Beside him was a young boy in a red hoodie, jeans, and with a white guitar slung across his back.

André looked from one to the other. "Miguel Rivera?" he asked hesitantly. He had honestly expected someone different. The man was far too old to still be in school, but the boy, while obviously old enough, was much younger than he expected.

It was the boy that answered however. " _Sí_ Señor Ramirez. I am Miguel Rivera and this is my _Tío_ Berto."

"Roberto Rivera." The man held out a beefy hand, which André shook. "His _papá_ would have come with him, but my sister-in-law is soon to give birth."

"Ah." André nodded. That made sense and obviously the boy was far too young to travel so far away on his own. "I've been expecting you then. Come in, come in." he waved them both inside and closed the door behind them. As they settled in André's living room, he asked, "Is it you or someone else in your family that is friends with Juan?" He had named his cousin's son.

Miguel shook his head and gave André an odd look. As he set the guitar down beside his seat, André noticed that it bore a strong resemblance to Ernesto de la Cruz's famous one. "No, I'm friends with Lupe, _Señor_."

As soon as the boy said the name André did recall that his cousin also had a daughter, Guadalupe, who was about Miguel's age. "Ah, of course. I forgot about her."

There was a flicker of a frown that crossed the boy's face at his words. He learned forward a little and said earnestly, "You shouldn't do that, _Señor_. Family is important. You should never forget your family."

André was a little taken aback by the boy's firm words and almost forceful tone. His eyebrows rose for a moment, but he smiled and nodded. "You are quite right. I will remember better. Now let us get to the matter that brought you here."

Roberto Rivera nodded and nudged his nephew. "Of course, the letters. Show him, Miguel." The boy reached into a pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small red notebook stuffed with papers. He held it in both hands for a moment before handing it over.

André took the small bundle carefully, flipping open the front cover. He skimmed the first few letters, noting that they matched the ones that had been emailed to him. "I will have to take these to the lab at the university for authentication, you understand."

"But we'll get them back, right?" Miguel asked anxiously. "They're some of the few things we have of _Papá_ Héctor. And _Mamá_ Coco will be sad if they got lost."

"Which would make my Mamá, her daughter, angry." Roberto put in. "And you never want to make Elena Rivera angry at you."

"Not unless you want a _chancla_ aimed at your head." Miguel added with a giggle which made both men chuckle as well.

"Well, to save myself from such a terrible fate, I will be certain to return these letters in exactly the same condition you have given me. I promise." André said as he set aside the notebook. As he sat back in his chair, he continued, "I must say that I was rather surprised to learn it was a Rivera making such claims against Ernesto de la Cruz. My cousin has often told me about the Rivera shoemakers of Santa Cecilia." He looked between the both of them. "And of your family's feelings on music."

Roberto was the one to answer the unspoken question. "It is rather a new thing for our family. And it's thanks to Miguel actually." He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "It was just this last _Dia de los Muertos_ that music was allowed back in the family. Our _Mamá_ Coco's mind had been wandered away for a while, but Miguel was able to bring it back with a song. She started telling us about her _papá_ , the man responsible for the ban, but talking about him made her so happy that it was decided to allow music once again." The man chuckled ruefully. "My own children have started asking for music lessons now, though Miguel here is the only _músico_ in the family at the moment." The boy grinned, a dimple flashing, as he picked up the guitar and set it on his lap.

"And I see you play the guitar." André said. "One would think you are a big fan of Ernesto de la Cruz. That guitar of yours is an excellent copy of his famous one."

Instead of looking proud at the comparison, Miguel frowned sharply and held the guitar close. "This is _Papá_ Héctor's guitar. _Not_ de la Cruz's."

The way the boy spat the name of the famous _músico_ made André's eyebrows reach for his hairline. That was certainly vehement. And curious. He glanced at the older Rivera. The man rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable and awkward.

" _Mamá_ Coco said she recognized it as her _papá_ 's guitar." He said reluctantly. "And we do have a _foto_ of him holding it."

"Really?" André couldn't quite keep the skepticism out of his voice. Miguel nodded, his head bobbling on his neck, as he shifted the guitar a little and reached into his pocket again. The boy pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to André.

"It's just a copy." Miguel said. "The original is on our family's _ofrenda_. And that's where it's going to _stay_." The boy's firm tone as he said that last part was as startling as his vehemence against Ernesto de la Cruz. André wanted to comment on both those things, but he let it rest for the moment. Instead he unfolded the paper handed to him.

And got perhaps the shock of his career.

The picture, clearly a photocopy, was of an old black and white photograph of a young family. The _foto_ had obviously been damaged at some point, torn and creased. The woman, seated, was quite beautiful and imperious. The little girl on her lap was very adorable. But it was the man in the _foto_ that caught André's attention. He stood next to the woman, one arm around her shoulder while the other held the neck of a white guitar. The same guitar that Miguel held. The man's head had clearly been torn away at some point and taped back on. There was also a creased to indicate the image had been folded once to hide the guitar from sight.

André stared at the picture for a very long time, feeling a little stunned. "This is your great-great-grandfather?"

Miguel nodded again and leaned forward, pointed to each person in turn. " _Sí_. That's _Papá_ Héctor, my great-great-grandfather. That's _Mamá_ Imelda, my great-great-grandmother. And their little girl is _Mamá_ Coco, my great-grandmother."

After another minute of examining the _foto_ , André handed it back to Miguel. "As you are aware," he said slowly, "I am the leading expert on Ernesto de la Cruz. The study of his career and songs has been my hobby for many years. So it will be no surprise for you to learn that I also collect memorabilia." He gave the boy with the guitar sitting across from him a long look. "I would like to show you something."

The two Riveras exchanged looks as André stood up and motioned them to follow him out of the room. He led them across the hall to his home office. There he went to the flat-drawer cabinet that stood against the far wall. As he pulled out one of the drawers, André continued, "I came into the possession of a very interesting piece several years ago. I have been able to date it to the late 1910's or early 1920's. So from very early in de la Cruz's career, long before he was famous. Unfortunately it is in very bad condition and I have never been able to find another like it." He stepped aside and gestured for the pair to have a look.

Inside the drawer, protected behind glass, was a very old piece of paper. A poster, badly weather-damaged and faded. The bottom half, where any words might have been, had been torn away and was missing. The image on the poster, just barely still visible, was of two men. Musicians. One was clearly Ernesto de la Cruz. The other…

" _Papá_ Héctor!" Miguel exclaimed in awe. The boy's uncle, standing behind him and looking over his head, stared at the image with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open slightly.

André nodded. "For years I have tried to find the identity of this man. Yet I was never able to find anything." He paused and Miguel looked up at him. "Until today."

He watched the boy carefully. A welter of emotions flitted across his face. Joy, triumph, surprise were the main ones, but there was also sadness, some anger, and grim determination. The good emotions were easy to understand. Here was more evidence to help his claims, which could also explain the determination. And the sadness was probably grief for a family member long dead. The anger however was the odd one out. Why would the boy be angry?

"This is probably from when they first left Santa Cecilia." Miguel said softly. He started to reach out to touch the glass, but pulled his hand back. André watched as his eyes drifted from the faded image of his great-great-grandfather to that of the other man. Miguel's expression hardened as little as the anger rose to the forefront. The boy's next words were spoken even softer and with bitterness. "Before Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him and stole his songs."

The shocking statement caused both adults to rear back in surprise. Roberto Rivera reacted faster than André Ramirez could. He shook the boy's shoulders and admonished, "Miguel!" He glanced nervously at André, likely worried over the other man's reaction. "Apologize right now."

Miguel sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping under his uncle's hands. "I apologize, _Señor_ Ramirez. I know I shouldn't have said that. I can't prove it." There was weariness in the boy's expression as he looked up at André for a moment before looking back at the poster. "I can't prove it at all." For some reason, André could swear that it seemed more like Miguel was apologizing to the image of his great-great-grandfather. Then the boy's jaw clenched and he grew fiercely determined. "But I can prove this. I can prove Ernesto de la Cruz stole the songs. They weren't written for the world. _Papá_ Héctor wrote them for his daughter. And for _Mamá_ Imelda. All he wanted to do was come back to his family."

As shocked as André had been at Miguel's accusation, the determined passion in the boy's words surprised him almost as much. The way he spoke of his great-great-grandfather made it sound as if the boy had personal experience of the man, which, if what he said was true, would be impossible.

He hadn't been lying when André had told the Riveras about trying for years to identify the man in the poster. This _Papá_ Héctor of Miguel's. In all the interviews with and autobiographies of Ernesto de la Cruz, there was absolutely no mention of his having a partner when he left Santa Cecilia. André would know if there had been. And because this poster had made him so curious, André couldn't help but become curious about why this boy thought so thoroughly that Ernesto de la Cruz killed his great-great-grandfather to say so out loud like he had.

"Why do you say you can't prove what happened to your great-great-grandfather, Miguel?" He asked after a moment. The boy looked up at him, something flickering in his eyes that made him seem older and wiser than his years. "Doesn't your family know what happened to him?"

Before Miguel could answer, his uncle spoke. "Ah, no, _Señor_ , we actually don't. All we know is that he left his family for music and never returned. I'm afraid that Miguel here has always been one for crazy fantasies." As the older Rivera explained, André kept most of his attention on Miguel. The younger Rivera's expression became mule-ish. Like he wanted to argue but knew it would just get him into trouble. It was clear he wasn't one to give up on something he believed in without a fight of some kind.

And something… Something made him want to help this boy find the truth.

André looked down at the poster as he collected his thoughts. Could it be true? Could Ernesto de la Cruz really have done what Miguel said? All of it? Could he really have killed someone for the sake of the person's songs? If so, it would be a blacker mark on the man's legacy than the theft of the songs alone. Was he ready to be responsible for making that mark? Was André Ramirez ready to stake his reputation on it?

And more importantly, where would they start?

Then he remembered something. The letters. The last one, with the latest date on it, had been postmarked México City. It wasn't a smoking gun, but it did give them a place to start.

"Do you want to try to find out happened, Miguel?" André asked carefully. The boy tilted his head a little as he looked at him, that wiser-than-his-years look was back. As if he already knew, but like he said he couldn't prove it.

"What do you mean?" asked Roberto.

André nodded back towards the living room. "Well, we know by the letters that your ancestor was here in México City in 1921. I might be able to track down some records that could tell if he left. If he took ill or was in an accident, there might be hospital records."

"What about police reports?" Miguel asked. "Like if it was a suspicious death?"

The boy was certainly not letting go of his accusations. Still André gave a slight smile. "I actually do know someone who can help in that aspect. I have a friend, an amateur historian, but more importantly he is a member of the México City police. He might be able to find something in their archives."

" _Gracias_ , _Señor_." Miguel grinned, enthusiastically. "Anything will be helpful."

"Then I will make that phone call."


	2. Remember

**Title:** Remember

 **Rating:** K+

 **Spoilers:** many parts of Coco

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This was originally shorter, but there were some scenes from the movie that, after I started writing this, I wanted to add to. So instead of doing multiple stories about the same scene, I just add them here. Also today would have been my grandpa's 100th birthday so this is sort of in honour of him.

 **Reviews:** _SCREAMING, Agent Numbah 227, demon doritto, animal 1, alex_ \- I'm glad you like the first chapter. I didn't originally plan on continuing that story line but since there is interest... Maybe? *shifty eyes* It might be a while though. I have some others I want to do first.

* * *

" _Mamá_ Coco, please! Don't forget him!" Miguel pleaded. But even as he did so, he could tell that he was too late. The memory of her _pap_ _á_ was gone. _Héctor_ was gone. _Mamá_ Coco would never get to see him again. Miguel couldn't fulfill his promise. Tears filled his eyes and clogged his throat. He didn't even hear the jangle of keys in the door nor when it opened to admit his living _familia_. As Abuelita rushed to comfort her _mam_ _á_ , Miguel felt his own parents come up behind him.

"What's gotten into you?" his _papá_ demanded. Miguel couldn't answer. He was still too caught up with grief and failure. He spun around and flung himself at his father, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist as Miguel buried his tears into _Papá_ 's shirt. He felt arms close around him and heard his father say, "I thought I'd lost you, Miguel."

"I'm sorry, _Papá_." He managed to choke out. He wasn't just apologizing to his parents for running off and disappearing all night. Nor for causing them to worry so much. They would never know it, but he was also apologizing to _Papá_ Héctor for failing him. If only he had been faster. If only he had tried harder. If only he hadn't wasted so much time believing the wrong thing.

He felt his _mamá_ 's arms join his _papá_ 's, stroking his hair. "We're all together now. That's what matters." She said softly.

He knew they were supposed to be comforting words. That they were supposed to make him feel better. But they felt more like a punch to the gut. "Not all of us." he mumbled into _Papá_ 's shirt. His parents, the entire _familia_ , would never know or understand why that was not true. Those words would never be true again. How could they possibly be true when a part of their family would forever be gone?

A moment later Abeulita turned to him. "Miguel, you apologize to your _Mamá_ Coco." she demanded harshly.

Miguel knew she was right. He pulled away from his parents, sniffed, and stepped forward. He would apologize, though not for the reasons they thought. They probably all thought his apology was for disturbing the elderly woman, but in reality he was going to apologize for not keeping his final promise to Héctor. " _Mamá_ Coco?..." His words trailed off as his foot bumped the guitar on the floor. Miguel looked down at it, having forgotten that he had indeed grabbed it after waking up on the floor of Ernesto de la Cruz's crypt. The sight of it sparked a memory and Miguel's eyes widened.

* * *

 _Miguel steadied the stack of boxes he had bumped. The interior of the so called bungalow he and Héctor had entered was so dim that it was difficult to make out anything. It didn't help that much of what was discernable seemed to be nothing more than piles of junk. There didn't seem to be_ anyone _there._

 _Héctor set one of the two shot glasses down on a chair next to a hammock that appeared to be filled with more junk. "_ Buena noches _, Chicharrón!" He said cheerfully, lifting a large ragged straw had from among the mess, revealing a rather angry skeleton. The man glared at Héctor._

" _I don't want to see your stupid face, Héctor." he growled sharply. This skeleton seemed even less put together than Héctor was. Miguel couldn't imagine how he was at all comfortable lying among what to him seemed like so much trash._

" _Come on. It's_ Dia de Muertos _." If Héctor was at all put off by the less than warm welcome, he didn't show it. He wiggled the shot glass in his hand as he set the hat on top of the other skeleton's head. "I brought you a little offering."_

 _Clearly Chicharrón was not interested. He turned to bury himself into the junk sharing his hammock. "Get out of here."_

 _Héctor set down his glass. "I would, Cheech." He said in that not so sincere apologetic tone Miguel had heard from him before. "But the thing is, me and my friend, Miguel…" he paused for a moment before continuing in a rush, "We really need to borrow your guitar."_

 _That got a reaction. Chicharrón snatched up the guitar that had been half buried in the other junk in his hammock. "My guitar?"_

" _Yes." Héctor answered._

" _My prized beloved guitar?" he clutched the instrument tightly, eyeing Héctor both suspiciously and with horror._

" _I promise we'll bring it right back." The tall gangly skeleton reassured him._

 _That seemed to do nothing except make the grumpy man even more suspicious. "Like the time you promised to bring back my van? Or my mini-fridge? Or my good napkins?! My lasso!? MY FEMUR!" with each item added to the list of things Héctor had 'borrowed' from him, Chicharrón grew more agitated. Héctor kept trying to interject excuses and assurances that this was 'not like those times'. Miguel had to wonder what on earth Héctor was doing that he needed a mini-fridge, napkins, and part of some guy's leg. Chicharrón levered himself up enough to grab one of Héctor's suspenders. "Where is my femur?! You…" the man's angry tirade broke off as a sudden bright golden light washed over his bones. He collapsed back into the hammock, coughing weakly._

 _Something about that light caused an uneasy feeling in the pit of Miguel's stomach. Even though he knew very little about the Land of the Dead, there was something troubling about that light. It meant something significant. Yet Miguel didn't know what. Maybe it was because of the concerned way Héctor said, "Woah, woah. You okay,_ amigo _?"_

 _Chicharrón let out a tired sigh. "I'm fading, Héctor. I can feel it. I couldn't even play that thing if I wanted to." He pinned the taller skeleton with a gimlet look. To Miguel's surprise, he said, "You play me something."_

 _Héctor jerked back and shook his head, holding up his hands. "No. You know I don't play anymore, Cheech. The guitar is for the kid." The older skeleton wasn't having any of it._

" _You_ want _it, you've got to_ earn _it."_

 _Miguel watched in confusion as Héctor hesitated for long moment before letting out a soft sigh and reach for the neck of the guitar. "_ Ay _, only for you,_ amigo _." He strummed a couple of notes and tuned one of the strings with what to Miguel looked like practiced ease. Sitting down on the edge of the hammock, Héctor asked, "Any requests?"_

 _Chicharrón gave out a dry raspy chuckle and waved a hand. "You know my favourite, Héctor."_

 _Héctor gave a small huff of a laugh and began to pick out a soft tune. Slowly Miguel sat on one of the crates, listening in awe as the skeleton man began to sing. Miguel had no idea he could play. Especially since Héctor had made his dislike and distain for musicians in general, and Ernesto de la Cruz (for all he claimed to be a close friend of the_ músico _) in particular, very clear. And yet here he was, expertly playing for the crotchety old skeleton who they had come to borrow a guitar from. And while Miguel didn't quite understand Chicharrón's complaint that Héctor had changed the words to the song nor Héctor's hissed excuse about children being present, he still found the song fascinating. Then again, he found all music fascinating._

 _As the last notes faded away, Chicharrón gave a soft chuckle. "Brings back memories." he murmured, pulling off his hat as he settled back among the junk sharing the hammock with him. "_ Gracias _." Resting his hat over his chest, the old skeleton let out a deep sigh all out of proportion to his size. His bones began to glow again with that golden light. It grew brighter and brighter, illuminating the entire shack. Miguel watched as if in a trance, unable to understand what was going on and unable to move, as the bones under the light turned to dust and the motes drifted off on the slight breeze that came in through the open wall of the shack. He barely noticed how Héctor looked away with a sad and solemn expression._

 _The hammock sifted, dropping a little, as only Héctor's weight remained._

 _After a few minutes, Héctor stood, holding the guitar by the neck. He picked up one of the shot glasses of tequila, raising it in a silent '_ salud _', and tossed back the alcohol. After setting the empty glass upside down next to the second, full, one, Héctor turned and headed back to the doorway. Miguel stood up to follow, but he couldn't quite turn away from the empty room._

" _Wait. What happened?" he asked softly. Héctor stopped just before the door._

" _He's been forgotten." The tone of his voice was strange. There was a tiredness that Miguel had never heard before. It didn't fit in with the exuberant skeleton man that Miguel had known up until now. "When there's no one left in living world that remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the Final Death."_

 _Miguel glanced around, unsure, and stammered, "Wh-where did he go?"_

" _No one knows."_

" _But_ I've _met him." An idea occurred to Miguel. He turned to face Héctor. "I could remember him when I go back!"_

 _But Héctor shook his head. "No, it doesn't work like that,_ chamaco _. Our memories, they have to be passed down by those who knew us in life… in the stories they tell about us. But there's no one left alive to pass down Cheech's stories."_

 _Something about this new information tugged at Miguel. It reminded him of his Abuelita's explanation for the reasons behind_ Dia de los Muertos _. And the story of his own family. And that uneasy feeling he had had, at the first sign of that golden light along Chicharrón's bones, grew stronger for some reason._

 _Then Héctor shook himself all over, much like Dante did after it rained, and his whole attitude changed back to cheerfulness. It was like he was shaking off some dark thought. "Hey, it happens to everyone eventually." He handed the guitar to Miguel and headed out the door. "Come on, de la Cruzito, you've got a contest to win."_

 _Miguel glanced around the empty shack one more time before following. Stepping outside, he saw Héctor was already half way up the boardwalk. The three lady skeletons were still playing cards across the way from now empty bungalow. The one Héctor had called_ Tía _Chelo had turned halfway around in her seat, watching the tall skeleton man walking away. She shook her head sadly with an odd look on her face. Like she wasn't expecting to see Héctor again. As she turned back to the card game, she noticed Miguel standing there. Raising a brow-ridge, she gave him a strange knowing look._

" _You better catch up,_ muchacho _." she said, nodding in the direction of Héctor's disappearing back. "You could lose that one before you know it."_

* * *

He hadn't understood at the time, merely nodded, thanked the ladies, and hurried after Héctor. There were many things about that moment that, in hindsight, he wished he had paid attention to. But it was Chicharrón's last words that really struck him at that moment. And then another flash of memory hit.

* * *

"… _I want to go home!" Miguel fell to his knees as the last echoes of his shouting faded away. Terror and panic coursed through him and was soon joined by despair. He could barely think. Finding out his great-great-grandfather was a fraud and a murderer was horrible. That he had actually met the man that Ernesto de la Cruz had killed made it worse. And that Miguel was partly responsible for whatever happened to the poor man. If he hadn't figured out the connection to_ El Camino a Casa _. And yet surely Héctor deserved to know the truth._

 _But now Miguel was trapped. Trapped in a cenote and no one knew where he was. Not his living family and not his dead family. He looked down at his hands, his bones clearly visible, the reminder of what would be his fate in a few short hours if nobody found him. And his harsh words to Abeulita echoed in his head as well. He just knew his living family would forget him. He would end up just like Chicharrón and the others in Shantytown. He would end up just like Héctor._

 _There was a rustle behind him and Miguel gasped, jerking around to look. It could have been anything. Some monster of the Land of the Dead. However it was Héctor, stumbling out from behind some broken carved boulders. The skeleton's foot slipped on one of the rocks, causing him to fall to his knees._

" _Héctor?" Miguel called out, not sure he could believe his eyes._

" _Kid?" Héctor looked up as if just as surprised to see Miguel._

 _Miguel scrambled to his feel and ran to him. "Oh Héctor! You were right." Colliding with him, Miguel wrapped his arms around the man's torso. Words started to tumble out of him. "I should have gone back to my family. They told me not to be like de la Cruz, but I didn't listen." As he babbled he was dimly aware of Héctor trying to calm him down and comfort him. "I told them I didn't care if they remembered me. I told them I didn't care if I was on their stupid_ ofrenda _." His own words reminded him that Héctor was stuck with that same fate and that just made everything hurt all the more._

 _Héctor gently pulled him into a hug. "Hey,_ chamaco _. It's okay. It's okay." Despite the fact that he was only bones, his arms around Miguel felt just like normal flesh and blood arms. It felt like it was his own father holding him. That just brought it home that he was never going to see his family again._

 _With his cheek against Héctor's ribcage, Miguel whispered, "I told them I didn't care." Tears filled his eyes. All of a sudden, golden light flashed over Héctor's bones. He pushed away from Miguel, stumbling back and fell back onto the ground with a gasping cry. "Héctor! Héctor?" Miguel cried in alarm, his own fears and worries forgotten as he knelt next to him._

" _She's…" the skeleton man murmured in a broken voice as he curled in on himself. A look of utter despair took over his expression as he looked up at the opening of the cenote. "…forgetting me."_

" _Who?" Miguel found himself asking._

 _Héctor hung his head. "My daughter."_

 _Things suddenly all clicked into place. Miguel suddenly realized, "She's the reason you wanted to cross the bridge."_

" _I just wanted to see her again." Héctor explained, a deep sorrow heavy in his voice. "I never should have left Santa Cecilia. I wish I could apologize. I_ wish _I could tell her that her_ papá _was trying to come home. That he loved her so much." His head dropped further. "My Coco…"_

 _That softly whispered name felt like splash of cold water, like when Miguel had hit the water of the cenote. It couldn't be, could it? He frowned slightly as he repeated, "Coco?" Slowly he stood and pulled the_ foto _from his pocket. He looked at it for a second before holding it out to Héctor._

 _The skeleton man glanced at it dully for a moment and took it from his hand. As he turned it properly, his eyes widened. "Where did you get this?"_

" _That's my_ Mamá _Coco." Miguel said, pointing to the picture. "That's my_ Mamá _Imelda. Is that… you?"_

" _We're…" Héctor started, sounding just as surprised as Miguel was. Miguel joined him to say, "…family?"_

 _That word, spoken in awed unison by two voices, echoed around the cenote. Miguel couldn't help but share in the wondrous, almost shy, smile that appeared on Héctor's (his real great-great-grandfather!) skull face. Even as his mind reeled from all the surprising revelations for the last hour or so, from finding out Ernesto de la Cruz had murdered someone and stole his songs to having the_ músico _be so callous as to trap a supposed member of his family in the Land of the Dead just to protect his reputation, Miguel felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. Relief and joy. It was_ Héctor _who was his great-great-grandfather! Not de la Cruz!_

 _Héctor looked back at the_ foto _, running the bones of his thumb gently against the image of his daughter. "I always hoped I'd see her again. That she'd miss me. Maybe put up my photo. But it never happened. You know the worst part?" He didn't wait for Miguel to answer, not that Miguel could guess. "Even if I never got to see Coco in the living world… I thought at least one day I'd see her here. Give her the biggest hug." The distant happy smile he had as he looked at the_ foto _faded. Miguel suddenly knew where the direction this was going. "But she's the last person who remembers me. The moment she is gone from the living world…"_

" _You disappear… from this one." Miguel finished, remember what Héctor had said after Chicharrón. It really hit him then. Hit him hard at how unfair the entire situation was to Héctor. Nevermind his own problems, Héctor had gone through far worse. "You'll never get to see her."_

" _Ever again…" Héctor confirmed. "You know, I wrote her a song once. We used to sing it every night at the same time. No matter how far apart we were. What I wouldn't give to sing it to her one… last… time…" And softly Héctor began to sing._

* * *

An idea began to form. Chicharrón had said that the song about Juanita brought back memories to him. Could Miguel possible be able to do the same for _Mamá_ Coco? He wasn't sure, but he had to try.

"Well? Apologize!" Abuelita ordered, though Miguel was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear her.

Carefully he stepped over the guitar and knelt next to his great-grandmother. " _Mamá_ Coco? Your _papá_ , he-he want you to have this." He set the _foto_ on the floor, picked up the guitar, and softly began to play. If nothing else he could give this gift for Héctor. Even if he never played another note (and if this didn't work, he wasn't sure if he would want to), Miguel could play the song Héctor wrote for his daughter for him. And he did, strumming the notes just like Héctor had sung them in the cenote. As a lullaby instead of the boisterous and loud version he had known the song as by Ernesto de la Cruz.

It was hard to do only because of the unshed tears still clogging his throat. Vaguely he was aware of his entire family watching and listening, but all his focus was on _Mamá_ Coco. As he sang, he tried to put all the heart and emotion that he knew Héctor felt for his daughter into the song. Tried to put the love, devotion, and longing he had witnessed. Of how even in death, Héctor had spent all these years trying to come back to her.

And miracle of miracles, a second voice joined his half way through. _Mamá_ Coco began to sing along and even though her voice was rough and cracked with age, Miguel could hear the little girl she had been way back when her _papá_ last sang with her. Miguel's heart lifted and tears filled his eyes.

It had worked.

She remembered.

 _Mamá_ Coco smiled at him as the song ended, her eyes disappearing into the wrinkles of her face. A sniffling sound broke into their little moment, making both to turn and look at their _familia_. Abuelita was actually crying even as a smile hovered on her lips, something that startled Miguel. "Elena?" _Mamá_ Coco asked. For the first time that Miguel ever knew of, she recognized her daughter. "What's wrong, _mija_?"

"Nothing, _Mamá_." Abuelita shook her head slightly, sniffing back her tears. "Nothing at all."

"My _papá_ used to sing me that song." _Mamá_ Coco started to explain.

Now it was Miguel's turn to sniff back tears. The sheer joy at knowing that she remembered now was overwhelming. Now she could pass on Héctor's story. Miguel, the whole family maybe, could now remember him for her and she would be able to see him in the Land of the Dead. "He loved you, _Mamá_ Coco." he said earnestly, "Your _papá_ loved you _so_ much."

She blinked for a moment and then smiled again, as if completely understanding everything Miguel tried to convey in those words. As if she knew what he had gone through and who he had met. She reached out a hand and cupped his cheek, just like Héctor had in those last moments Miguel had spent in the Land of the Dead. Then, to his surprise, she reached into the drawer of the table beside her wheelchair and pulled out a worn red notebook.

"I kept his letters. Poems he wrote me." She opened the cover and extracted a small scrap of paper. She held it out to Miguel. "And…"

He didn't even have to see it to know what it was. Miguel set the guitar against the wall and picked up the _foto_ from the _ofrenda_. He held the small scrap containing Héctor's face so that it matched up with the rest, finally restoring the picture (and Héctor). Finally after all this time, the family was whole again.


	3. Getting In

**Title:** Getting In

 **Rating:** K+

 **Spoilers:** parts of the movie

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** I wanted to explore how it got from Imelda agreeing to help get the photo back to getting into the Sunrise Spectacular.

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbuh 227_ – glad you liked that. I really wanted to get the emotions he had to have been going through just right. _ainmals1_ – I know what you mean. I start writing something them a bunch more ideas pop up and try to distract me.

* * *

They had to make an odd group, Héctor was sure. After all it wasn't every night one would see six well-remembered skeletons, one nearly-forgotten one, and an actual living boy riding on the back of a huge winged jaguar _alebrije_ with a newly minted Xolo _alebrije_ doing loops alongside. And he wasn't sure that Miguel was the odd one of the group. At least his great-great-grandson was an acknowledged member of the family. Héctor wasn't and he knew that if Imelda had her way, he would never be. He didn't and wouldn't blame her of course. The fact that she was helping them get his photo back from Ernesto de la Cruz was just short of a miracle in itself.

Still it left Héctor feeling out of place. And awkward.

Very awkward.

It didn't help that he ended up seated closer to Imelda than he'd been in decades. She had insisted that Miguel sit right next to her and the boy had, in turn just as he'd done in the cenote when Imelda fished them out, pulled Héctor right up behind him without asking permission. Imelda had looked for a moment like she wanted to dump him right off again, but had decided to just ignore his presence (likely as a necessary evil).

Miguel's _way_ on how they were supposed to get Héctor's photo back from Ernesto involved a visit to someone else who probably didn't want to see Héctor again. Ceci Herdez, the costume designer for the Sunrise Spectacular. Héctor was not looking forward to trying to convince her to help. She had been very angry about him losing the Frida Kahlo costume. She was going to be even angrier when she found out the second one had been 'lost' (left behind in Ernesto's tower) as well.

Why he needed multiple Frida costumes was not something he was looking forward to trying to explain to Imelda and the others. It really wasn't one of his better schemes, even if it had worked to get into Ernesto's party. And it would probably give them all sorts of bad impressions. Not that Héctor _had_ a favourable reputation with the other Riveras.

Irreverently he wondered if any of them knew that falsifying a unibrow was illegal in the Land of the Dead. Of all the weird laws he had ended up breaking over the near century of trying to cross to the Land of the Living that one had to top the list.

Meanwhile, Miguel was telling the rest what he and Héctor had been doing since they had fled from the Department of Family Reunions. "…and the band member guy told us the party was invite only unless we won the music competition. But I needed a guitar, so I asked _Papá_ Héctor and he said he knew a guy. He took me to see his friend, Chicharrón, in Shantytown…"

Héctor couldn't help the glow of pride when Miguel called him _Papá_ Héctor. It had been so long since _anyone_ had called him _papá_ at all. And he was grateful that the lad had skipped over the whole 'Chorizo' thing. However their destination of that little side trip had caught Imelda's attention.

"Shantytown?" She turned slightly on her perch atop Pepita's head and fixed her dark glare on Héctor. "You took _my_ grandson to _Shantytown_?!"

" _Dios mio_ , Imelda! We are _not_ like that! Miguel was perfectly safe." Héctor snapped back without thinking. Instantly he wilted again, a little shocked by his own reaction and not even realizing he had included himself in that statement. A quick glance at the others proved they were just as surprised, especially Óscar and Felipe. Those two had known him in life and knew he had never once given a sharp word to Imelda. Not to say they had never argued, but Imelda had the sharp temper, not Héctor.

He shouldn't have been so surprised by her disgust in regards to Shantytown. Héctor knew how the well-remembered viewed the place and its inhabitants. The nearly-forgotten were seen either as those to be pitied or as little better than criminals and thieves. Better off out-of-sight, out-of-mind. No one wanted to be reminded that they could end up facing the same fate as those unfortunates.

But for Héctor, the place was his home and the people there his _familia_. In some ways they were his only family, what with only one member of his living family still remembering him and being ostracized from his dead family. To those of Shantytown, he was crazy Cousin Héctor.

There was a bubble of awkward silence. Then Miguel pipped up. "He's right, _Mamá_ Imelda. I never fell in a pool there. And no one in Shantytown tried to throw us into a cenote." Héctor wasn't sure if Miguel was trying to make a joke about that or not. No one laughed. "They treat each other like family." The boy added.

Héctor almost wished Miguel hadn't said that. They all flinched, even Héctor. Nothing like being reminded of the rift in the family.

Thankfully about that moment Pepita circled in for a landing behind the rehearsal studio. Héctor only then wondered if Ceci was even still there, but the lights were still on in the window of her costuming area. Despite the dull ache that was slowly beginning develop in his bones Héctor was the first to climb down. It didn't take but a moment for him to launch his arm at the window to get Ceci's attention.

" _Dios mio_. What do you want this…" the costume designer called down crossly, stopping mid-sentence. She blinked as if not quite believing the crowd looking up at her. Then Ceci set her hands on her hips, still holding Héctor's arm in one hand. "What is going on, Héctor? You've never involved this many in one of your schemes."

"We need your help, _Señora_." Miguel called up before Héctor could say anything. The hood of his red coat fell back, making it easier for Ceci to see exactly who (and what) he was.

As her eyes moved to the boy, Héctor could see the moment she realized what she saw. She spluttered. "Y-you… you are…" her gaze darted back to Héctor and her eyes narrowed. "THAT IS THE LIVING BOY, HÉCTOR!" she shouted, pointing at him with his own arm.

"I know. I am aware of that, Ceci." Héctor replied, glancing around nervously. He really hoped no one nearby had heard her shouting. They didn't need a crowd gathering.

" _What_ are you doing with a _living boy_?!"

"Instead of yelling to the neighbourhood, you could let us up and we can explain." Imelda retorted, clearly losing patience.

Ceci made a 'tsk' noise. "Fine." She looked at Héctor again and tossed down his arm. "This better be good, _cabrón_ , or I'm tossing you and this lot out."

There was a general gasp of shock from the female Riveras. Héctor didn't dare glance at Imelda as he scrambled to avoid the fire escape (he always forgot about not standing right under the blasted thing) as it came crashing down. He had accidentally said that word in front of Coco back when they were alive and his wife's rage had been terrifying then. He suspected Miguel might already know that word. After all he did when he was Miguel's age. He just hoped the boy was smart enough to not let that slip.

As he avoided being flattened into a tortilla, he missed catching his arm. Luckily one of the twins caught it before it hit the ground. Héctor muttered a soft " _gracias_ " to Felipe as he took back his arm and set it back in place. He frowned a little as the joint felt looser than normal. Being nearly-forgotten, he was used to the way his bones easily came free, but this was yet another sign (as if he needed one) that the Final Death was approaching.

Moments later they were all inside Ceci's studio. Ceci stood, arms crossed over her ribcage and her foot tapping impatiently. "Explanations _now_ , Héctor." She ordered.

Héctor took off his hat and fidgeted with it. "Well, It's… it's like this. Miguel here, he is my great-great-grandson and…"

" _You_ have a great-great-grandson?" Ceci interrupted, disbelief clear on her skull. Héctor couldn't exactly blame her for not believing him. He had stopped talking about his family not long after Imelda had died and made it clear to him that he was no longer wanted. And he'd never really explained to Ceci _why_ he was always borrowing costumes from her, just that he needed them to cross the bridge.

Héctor started to nod when Imelda stepped forward. She gave him a sour look, making Héctor cringe again, before addressing the costume designer. "As much as it annoys me to admit it, he is correct. We are Miguel's _familia_ , but before we send him back to the Land of the Living, we need to get _his_ ," and she gestured at Héctor, "photo back from Ernesto de la Cruz."

Ceci looked about to ask why Ernesto had Héctor's photo, but Miguel answered her question before she could speak. "De la Cruz kept it after we figured out he had murdered _Papá_ Héctor for his songs. Then he had us thrown into a cenote."

"He what…? Cenote?" Ceci blinked owlishly then looked at Héctor again. "Wait, murdered? I thought you died of food poisoning."

"No, it turns out that I was poison poisoned." Héctor replied uncomfortably. Even though he hadn't had a stomach, esophagus, or tongue for almost a century, Héctor could taste bitter bile at the back of his throat at that. It was bad enough back when he learned Ernesto had stolen his songs, but this… This hurt more. His friend (his _best_ friend) had killed him. They had grown up together. Ernesto had been his best man at his and Imelda's wedding. He had always thought of him as a brother in all but blood. It was hard to wrap his mind around the idea of Ernesto poisoning him. And all because Héctor had wanted to take his songs and go home.

Ceci's expression softened a little. "My sympathies, _mi amigo_."

Héctor gave a half smile and shrugged a little, not really sure how to respond to that. He didn't think Ceci considered him anything like a friend, not even a casual acquaintance. He always believed she viewed him more as an annoying nuisance. At least she never made fun of him like that jerk Gustavo and his band mates.

"Anyway," Miguel continued, "we thought you can help us get into the Sunrise Spectacular. We need costumes that will get us backstage."

"I want to help you, _niño_. Really I do, but…" Ceci sighed and looked apologetically around at all of them. "The show starts in less than two hours. There's no way I can make costumes for all of you. Not ones that could get you backstage." She looked at Héctor again. "I'm sorry, Héctor. There just isn't enough time. Otherwise…"

"There is time enough!" Another woman's voice called from the door to the rest of the rehearsal space. Everyone (Ceci and all the Riveras living and dead) turned in surprise.

Behind him, Héctor heard Victoria whisper to one of the others "Is that who I think it is?"

"Yes, it is _I_ ," the woman said as she sash-shayed into the room, the monkey alebrije on her shoulder making a 'ta-dah' motion, "Frida Kahlo."

To the surprise of everyone except Héctor (he knew the two had met before), Miguel ran over to her. " _Señora_ Frida!"

Frida gave the boy a hug, seemingly unsurprised that he was a living child instead of a skeleton. " _Ay, mi pequeña inspiración_. Don't you fret, I heard everything." She let Miguel go and looked around at the group. "I never liked that man. I always suspected that that _músico_ was no true artistic soul. That he is a fraud and a murderer does not surprise me in the least. To do anything to help those against him would be an honour. _Vamonos_ , all of you." Frida clapped her hands and turned in a swirl of brightly coloured skirts. "Frida has a plan!"

Miguel grinned at them and followed Frida out of the room. The others looked at Ceci who, for some reason, looked at Héctor like he should know what to do. He shrugged helplessly and followed Miguel. If Frida wanted to help them, Héctor sure wasn't going to argue. He had a sinking feeling he knew what Frida's plan was.

It was confirmed when the woman gathered her dancers together, all of them already in costume, to listen as Miguel quickly explained the situation. The dancers, although confused and a little shocked by the presence of a living child, soon agreed to help. Several volunteered their places before Frida or Miguel asked. Before long Ceci had taken Imelda, Rosita, and Victoria off to fit their borrowed costumes while Héctor, Miguel and the other three were shooed into Ceci's studio to get into theirs.

Héctor, of course, was done first because of already knowing how to work a Frida Kahlo costume. As he glanced at the others, he noticed one of the twins in front of Ceci's mirror.

Óscar, with only the skirt of the costume on over his trousers, twisted back and forth. "Something just doesn't look right about this. _Hermano_ , what do you think?"

"It makes your butt look big." Felipe answered without looking. He had his head and arms stuck in his costume top as he struggled to get it over his shirt. Óscar made a fake swipe at him.

For one moment Héctor forgot about having not spoken to his brothers-in-law in nearly a century. "Guys, I don't know how to tell you this," he said, without thought or hesitation, in his best deadpan delivery, "but none of us _have_ butts anymore, big or otherwise."

There was a beat of silence as the three of them looked at each other. Then Felipe snorted a laugh, Óscar cracked a grin, and Héctor began to snicker. To the side, Julio groaned and pinched the place where his nose had once been.

" _Dios mio_ , now there are three of them." The tiny man who was Héctor's son-in-law (and wasn't _that_ hard to wrap his head around) muttered under his breath. That set Miguel giggling which in turn caused the others to break into laughter. It might have gone on until they were all breathless and in trouble with Imelda, except that reality decided to intrude first.

Héctor let out a sudden gasp as light washed over him and his body spasmed. Ice fire ran along his bones and, even though he didn't have physical ears, there was a roaring noise that deafened him. The next thing he knew, he was on his hands and knees with Miguel beside him, calling his name. Héctor tried to give him a reassuring smile, to tell the boy that he was okay, even though he knew it was futile. He wasn't okay. He wasn't going to _be_ okay. He knew what Chicharrón and the others meant now, about feeling themselves fading. His time was trickling away like grains of sand in an hourglass. All he could hope for was that the Final Death would hold off long enough for them to get his photo back, send Miguel home, and for Héctor to get across the flower bridge and see Coco one last time.

Slowly, with shaking knees and using Miguel's help, Héctor got back on his feet. Once he was vertical, he glanced at his in-laws. All three had looks of concern and guilt. That wouldn't do. As far as Héctor was concerned, it wasn't any more their fault than it was Imelda's. Héctor was the one who had left his family. Julio had never known him in life and the twins had only supported Imelda's choice as family should. Héctor plastered on a reassuring grin, but before he could say anything (and before the moment got awkward) they were interrupted.

"If you lot are done goofing off, I need to get those dresses to fit." Ceci said, her tone irritable. Héctor might have even believed it except that he caught her eyes briefly and knew. She had seen all that. Seen his collapse and the light. She now knew, just like the rest of the Riveras, just how close to the end he was.

He gave the tiniest shake of his head and thankfully she took the hint not to say anything. There were things to get finished after all and, as Ceci had said before, there wasn't much time. None of them should waste time dwelling on his imminent Final Death. He stepped aside and gave an expansive gesture. "I know they aren't much to work with, but do your best, Ceci."

"They can't be worse than you." She shot back.

It actually didn't take her long at all. It took a little more time when it came to the final touches. There was a slight problem with getting the fake unibrow to stick to Miguel's skin. The makeup glue used in the Land of the Dead was meant to be used on bone, not for flesh and blood. Even once they got it to work, Héctor suspected it was going to hurt peeling it off.

Then it was time. As the dancers filed into the giant papaya, Frida pulled the Riveras aside for some final instructions. "…once the dancers start, that's when you can slip out. I'll be just off stage. Head down the stairs, take a left. Go to the end of the hall and take another left. The third door on the right is our green room. You can change there. After that, you're on your own." With that, she left to deal with the crew that was to transport the papaya to the stadium where the Sunrise Spectacular was taking place.

Héctor tried again to offer a hand to Imelda to help her into the papaya. She, again, ignored it with a sneer. Victoria also declined the help (without the sneer at least), but Rosita gladly accepted with a small smile. The twins helped Miguel and Julio (being actually shorter than the boy) then followed. Just before Héctor joined them, Ceci came up beside him.

"Good luck." Was all she said. Héctor could read between the lines though. She was pretty sure she wasn't going to see him again and this was her way of saying goodbye.

"We're going to need it." He answered then followed his family.


	4. Acrophobia

**Title:** Acrophobia

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** phobias

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** Considering Miguel not only got thrown off a huge building (nearly dying) as well as into a cenote, it makes sense that he would end up with a fear of heights. I have a slight fear of heights myself, but it only pops up at very specific heights. So maybe it's more of a fear of falling off things. I also like the idea of him having to try to explain his adventure to someone other than his baby sister or _Mamá_ Coco.

 _Dios mio_ this ended up longer than I thought.

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbuh 227_ – It was such a stich to write that bit. I knew the twins had a terrible sense of humour just from them likening Dante to a sausage in a barber shop and the reactions of the other Riveras. And I like the fandom idea of Héctor and them being jokesters. _Rio storm_ – you pm did give me an idea so look for it in the future. _Guitarist Girl_ – I'm glad you've like it so far. _animals1_ – Frida was awesome to write too. She is so flamboyant and I loved Julio's line too. _Guest_ – I don't know if I'll get to that but we'll see.

* * *

" _Tía_ Luisa? Have you seen Miguel?" Rosa Rivera asked her aunt. She had been looking all over for her cousin. Along with Rosa's brother, they were supposed to practice that song Miguel had written. The three of them were going to preform it in three days on _Dia de los Muertos_. The problem was that Rosa could _not_ find Miguel anywhere! She had checked every room in the house, the workshop, the storage area used for the supplies for the _zapatería_ , even the plaza. All his usual haunts, but no sign of him.

Luisa looked up from the suede boot she was brushing, " _Abuelita_ asked him to get the box of spare shoe lasts from the attic." She frowned slightly from a thought. "That might have been a while ago though."

Rosa blinked. She had forgotten about the attic. It really should have been the first place she checked considering he had spent years hiding his obsession with music up there. And it was where he'd had his _ofrenda_ to the _músico_ Ernesto de la Cruz until it had been discovered last year. The confrontation between Miguel and the rest of the family over that was one Rosa hoped would never happen again.

Not that it would, now that music was allowed once more.

She frowned a little, puffing out her cheeks. Without the music ban, Miguel didn't have to hide his playing anymore. And now that she thought about it, Rosa didn't think Miguel had even been up there all year. That was probably why she hadn't remembered about it. Well, if he was up there goofing off again, Miguel was going to feel the wrath of Rosa's sandal. "Okay. _Gracias, Tía_."

She trotted across the courtyard. The easiest way up to the attic was through a hatch in the store room. It was a little hidden behind a stack of rolled tubes of leather. When Rosa pushed her way past them, she saw that the ladder was there already. Normally the ladder was stored elsewhere to keep the twins from getting into more mischief than they usually could. That was a hard and fast rule of the household. Nearly as important as the old music ban. That it was there meant either Miguel forgot to put it away or that he was still up there.

There was one of the wooden lasts on the ground at the bottom of the ladder, but no box and no Miguel.

Rosa let out an annoyed sigh through her nose and picked up the last. Setting it on top of the leather, she began to climb the ladder. " _Ay_ , Miguel. You better be up here or I'm going to kick your butt." She muttered under her breath. She refused to think that he may have disappeared again. When he ran off the previous year, the whole family was frantic. Rosa's _papá_ and brother had searched all night along with _Tío_ Enrique. Rosa's aunt would have as well if she hadn't been pregnant with Socorro. Rosa had spent most of the night keeping an eye on the twins as she wasn't allowed to help look. And _Abuelita_ had been beside herself with worry. The only one that didn't seem aware of what had happened had been _Mamá_ Coco, but considering the way she had been at the time that wasn't surprising.

But he had come home the next morning, carrying strange _new_ guitar, and had rushed into _Mamá_ Coco's room. Rosa could remember that he had been frantic to reach her to the point of locking the rest of the family out the room. _Tío_ Enrique had gotten the door open with the spare set of keys and by the time that the rest of the family had gathered, Miguel was playing that guitar. And talking about _Mamá_ Coco's _papá._ And _Mamá_ Coco was more aware and coherent than any of them could remember her being in a long time.

There were times when Rosa butted heads with Miguel. Being the same age as him, it was inevitable really. But as much as they fought, Rosa would never want the family to go through all that again.

Reaching the top of the ladder, she stuck her head through the opening to the attic. "Miguel? Are you up here?" There was no answer, but the box of lasts was overturned next to the opening. Rosa climbed the rest of the way up and set the box right, collecting the few pieces that had fallen out. Leaving the box next to the opening, Rosa peered around the dim attic. "You better be up here, _primo_. This isn't funny."

She didn't see anything at first until there was a strange muffled sound to her left. Even with that hint Rosa almost missed spotting her cousin huddled against a pile of boxes. Miguel had his eyes scrunched tight and hands fisted until his knuckles were white. Bent over so she wouldn't hit her head on the low ceiling, Rosa went over to him. As she got closer, she could hear his rapid breathing.

"Miguel?" Rosa called out softly but it didn't seem like he even heard her. She reached out to shake his shoulder. " _Miguel_!"

He reacted like her touch was electric, jerking away with a strangled, " _No_! Don't…" He stared at Rosa with wide wild eyes for a moment then blinked. "R-rosa? What a-are you doing here?" He looked around the attic almost as if seeing it for the first time.

Rosa wanted to straighten and put her hands on her hips, but there wasn't enough space so she knelt and crossed her arms instead. "Looking for you. We're supposed to practice, remember? Why were you still up here? Hiding again?"

"I… I…" Miguel swallowed hard as he looked past her to the opening. He went pale and a little green under the natural tan of his skin and looked away quickly. "N-no. I wasn't hiding. I was just…uh…"

The way he fumbled with his explanation reminded Rosa of how he dodged questions about what had happened to him after he ran away. When pressed he started to claim that he couldn't remember. Not that _Tío_ Enrique and _Tía_ Luisa pushed too hard. Even _Abuelita_ let him alone over it as long as he promised to never run off like that again. Rosa had her suspicions though. Just like now.

She frowned. "What are you hiding _now_?"

" _Nothing_!" he started and then groaned as she gave him a disbelieving look. "Look, never mind. I have to get that box to _Abuelita_."

"I'm not stopping you." Rosa retorted as she scooted to the side and motioned to the box she had left by the hatch. Miguel hesitated glancing between Rosa and the opening. When he still didn't move, Rosa snorted. "Knew it. You are _still_ keeping secrets from your family."

That made Miguel wince and a look of shame crossed his face. "It's not like that at all."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it."

"I _can't_! You wouldn't believe me even if I told you!" he cried, clearly frustrated. He ran both hands over his hair, tugging at the ends. "You'll think I'm _loco_ or something."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No we won't."

"Oh, yeah?" Miguel repeated Rosa's words right back at her. "Even if I told you the reason I can't do heights anymore is because I was thrown off a building by the same man who murdered _Papá_ Héctor and stole his songs? That he did it just to keep me from ruining his stupid _reputation_ in the Lands of the Living and Dead alike?"

His words were so surprising that Rosa blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "That's crazy, Miguel. Don't be rid…" she broke off at the look he was giving her. Brows raised, head tilted forward as if Miguel was looking over a pair of imaginary glasses, lips pressed together, and the corners turned up in something that wasn't quite a smile, but still a little smug. It was the epitome of an I-told-you-so look. Rosa gapped at him for a moment and then exclaimed, "That doesn't make any sense!"

Oh she know what he meant by stolen songs. All year Miguel had been campaigning to prove it was their great-great-grandfather who had written Ernesto de la Cruz's songs. He was very determined about it. Using _Mamá_ Coco's letters, he had managed to convince first the family, then the rest of the town. It was the reason they were allowed to keep the guitar that Miguel had brought home. Now the tours given by the city to visitors came by the _zapatería_ four times a day to show off 'The Home of Esteemed Songwriter Héctor Rivera'.

So Rosa knew who Miguel was talking about. Except that _that_ was impossible.

Miguel shrugged. "I know it doesn't, but it's true. Don't you think that I'd make it more believable if I was just making it up?"

He had a point there and Rosa knew it. She snapped her mouth shut and closed her eyes. Lifting her glasses a bit to pinch the bridge of her nose, Rosa asked " _Pero… ¿pero cómo?_ "

There was a long silence that made her open her eyes again. Miguel was giving her a measuring look. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else." He gave a half-smile. "You don't want people to think you're _loco_ too." It was a weak joke.

"Whatever. Fine." Rosa rolled her eyes. There was a sudden increase of noise from the workshop, reminding them of the rest of the family. Miguel and Rosa both looked at the opening to the attic and the box next to it. Rosa clicked her tongue. "Maybe later though. I'm not giving you an out! You're going to tell me everything." She glared at him for a moment until he nodded. "But we should probably figure out how to get you out of the attic before someone else comes looking."

" _Ay Dios mio_ , I was supposed to get that box to _Abeulita_ an hour ago." He groaned.

Rosa couldn't help but smirk. "Tell her you got distracted by something shiny. She'll believe that." Her cousin gave her a flat look.

"Very funny…" Miguel muttered dryly.

"Wait, wait, wait." A thought occurred to Rosa. "You haven't freaked out using the stairs in the house. The whole family would have found out already." It was true. Their entire family would be aware of Miguel's acrophobia long before now if he couldn't even manage a set of stairs. Especially considering how he used to scramble about on the roof of the workshop before.

Miguel frowned a little and shrugged. "I don't have any problem going _up_. And I don't have to look down to go down the stairs. Usually I just close my eyes and count the steps. It's not like I have to _look_ where to put my feet on the stairs."

"Well… We'll just do that then." At the unsure look he gave her, Rosa made an exasperated noise. "I don't see how it's that much different. A ladder is just a steeper set of stairs." Miguel mumbled under his breath something about Rosa not being in his head. Rosa rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. "Just come on. Close your eyes, _idiota_. I'll get you started."

Finally she managed to get him over to the opening. Rosa went down first with the box, balancing it on her head with one hand so she could use the other to climb down. Leaving the box on the ground, she climbed back up. Miguel was right where she had left him, next to the opening with his eyes scrunched shut. Rosa grabbed his foot and almost got kicked for it.

"Hey!"

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Rosa glared for a second, but then had to concede that she maybe shouldn't have surprised him without warning. His fear was probably growing worse with being near the hatch. "I'm going to put your feet on the ladder. You can just feel your way down. I'll be right below you." Though now that she thought about it, if Miguel slipped and fell there wasn't going to be much Rosa could do except get squashed with him. She decided not to say _that_ however.

It seemed to take longer than it should have. Rosa bit her tongue to not say anything. It wasn't fair to scold or tease him about this. Yes, she and Abel had teased him about having 'no talent' for that talent show on _Dia de los Muertos_ last year. But after learning that he _did_ have talent at music, and finding out they had some as well, Rosa had felt bad about it.

Once Miguel had both feet on the ground, he just stood holding onto the ladder. Rosa could tell he was shaking a little. She waited a moment and then picked up the box. "I'll take this over to the workshop. You put the ladder away and get the guitar. Abel's probably waiting for us in the _ofrenda_ room." That's where they usually practiced. Miguel had chosen it. Rosa had thought it was just because it was not used much by the rest of the family and was out of the way of the workshop. But now she was wondering if there was more to it. After all Miguel had been oddly protective of the _ofrenda_ since last year.

She didn't wait to hear his response. Thankfully _Abeulita_ wasn't in the workshop when Rosa brought in the box of lasts. _Tía_ Luisa looked up as she set down the box, but Rosa just waved and hurried out again before her aunt could ask questions. After a quick run up to her room to grab her violin case, Rosa headed to the _ofrenda_ room. As she had guessed, Abel was already there fiddling with his accordion. Miguel came in behind her with the white guitar.

"We have an hour or so before the next tour comes by." He said as he strummed the strings before tightening one.

Rosa shoved down the usual envy. Both her brother and her cousin were lucky. Her cousin had such an ear for music that Miguel could tune that guitar in seconds. And Abel wouldn't have to tune his instrument for years. The accordion came from _Viejo_ Gonzales down the street and the old man, who was showing Abel how to play it, had kept it in tip top shape. Rosa, on the other hand, still needed help tuning her violin. Her teacher, who was also teaching Miguel how to read music, kept saying that it would come eventually. So as she drew the bow across the strings, Rosa glanced at Miguel. He gave a nod and flashed a grin at her to indicate that everything was in tune.

At least she and her brother were no longer sounding like an asthmatic goose (in Abel's case) or a cat in heat (in hers).

As the three practiced, Rosa couldn't help but notice how often Miguel's eyes drifted to the _fotos_. In fact, now that she thought about it, it wasn't just the _ofrenda_ he was protective of. It was the pictures displayed there. Especially the one of their great-great-grandparents. Rosa had the sudden feeling that her _primo's_ story held more explanations than just what happened to him on _Dia de los Muertos_.

* * *

Later turned out to be the next day after school. Miguel had taken her to the plaza and, among the bustle, music, and chatter, told her everything. About getting cursed and meeting all their dead family and ending up in the Land of the Dead. Of fading skeletons, murder, and a huge misunderstanding that had shaped their family for almost a hundred years. And an unending desire to come home.

Rosa had wanted to be skeptical of the whole thing. It was all too fantastical to be believed. Except that she knew it was true. Like Miguel had said the day before, lying about it only worked if it was believable. In a way, it made sense. And there was one part of the story that Rosa could verify. She could remember _Tío_ Enrique mentioning to her _papá_ about a commotion at the crypt of Ernesto de la Cruz when he and _Tía_ Luisa had gone to the cemetery looking for Miguel.

It explained so many little things. How Miguel knew about _Mamá_ Coco's song. How he had known their great-great-grandfather's name was Héctor before even reading _Mamá_ Coco's letters. Why he had seemed so satisfied seeing the statue in the plaza so covered in pigeon _caquita_. Why Miguel wouldn't eat chorizo anymore.

More importantly, it explained why he had been so adamant that _Papá_ Héctor hadn't meant to abandon their family. That he had intended to come home.

With so much now filling her thoughts, Rosa decided to go for a walk after. Miguel understood and said he'd let the family know that she would be home later. Rosa would have to come up with her own excuse though. She'd rolled her eyes at that.

The whole story gave Rosa a lot to think about. She tried to picture herself in her cousin's shoes. Granted, she had never had so strong a passion for something that she was willing to defy something like the old music ban. She probably wouldn't ever have tried stealing from a grave, but if, somehow, it was _her_ who had ended up cursed, Rosa would have likely just accepted the conditions _Mamá_ Imelda put on her blessing. There would be no running off. No finding and helping long lost family members. No nearly dying multiple times. No adventure.

She couldn't help but be both respectful of and exasperated with her _primo_.

The walk didn't do much to clear her head. Rosa's thoughts kept flitting from one part of the story to another. But as she passed the entrance to the cemetery, Rosa stopped. Her curiosity was getting the better of her and even though Rosa knew she wouldn't _see_ anything, she had to check. It wasn't like there was anything wrong with visiting the cemetery. The gate was already open as people were starting to bring things to decorate the graves of their loved ones. Even her family would be coming soon to do the same. So Rosa headed inside and towards the back wall where Miguel had described seeing the flower bridge.

There was nothing to see, of course. For one thing, it wasn't _Dia de los Muertos_. For another, she wasn't cursed. Oh well.

As she turned to go, Rosa looked up at the huge crypt of Ernesto de la Cruz. She had always thought that it was more than a little ridiculous, even back when he was just some dumb famous _músico_. Now knowing he was only famous because of her great-great-grandfather's songs and, especially, that he had murdered _Papá_ Héctor for them; it was just… tacky. At least it looked like no one was going to decorate it this year. No one had even cleared off the old decorations from last year. Just like the statue in the plaza, it was falling into disrepair.

Something welled up inside her as she looked up at the bust of de la Cruz. A need to do something. To commemorate the fact she knew what happened. What de la Cruz had done, both to Miguel and to _Papá_ Héctor. It was stupid and pointless, but there it was. But what exactly eluded her for a moment. After all, Rosa wasn't someone who would deface someone's grave no matter how much he might deserve it.

Then she spotted the words "Remember Me" engraved on the wall just below the bust and an idea popped into her head. The trick would be doing it without being seen or getting caught.

So Rosa quickly headed home. She needed to find the materials she needed and figure out the best time to act. The first wasn't too hard. There was a pile of scrap wood used for mending various parts of the house and certainly left over white paint from the last time _Papá_ , _Tío_ Enrique, and Abel painted the wall around the _zapatería_. When to do it was another matter. The only way she could think of was to wait until everyone was asleep and then sneak out of the house. A daunting prospect for sure.

It only took a couple of moments to get a suitable board, a bit of heavy twine, and the paint up to her room. At least she had a room to herself, for now anyway. Abel and Miguel shared a room as did the twins. Rosa expected that once Socorro was older, she would end up with a roommate as well.

Rosa had to wait until after dinner, chores, and homework were all done to work on it. The hardest part was the wait until she was sure everyone was asleep. Waiting in her room in the dark, since she didn't want to alert her parents (or worse, _Abeulita_ ) to what she was planning to do. Finally the house was silent. Rosa waited a little longer, just to be sure, before opening her door a crack.

The hall was pitch black and so was the rest of the house. At least it was a full moon or near to it so she wouldn't need to use a flashlight. Rosa crept as quietly as she could, wincing at each little creak. She let out a breath of relief once she finally closed the front door behind her and ghosted across the courtyard to the gate.

Just as she set her hand on the latch, a voice spoke. "What do you think you're doing, _hermana_?"

Rosa let out a squeak and whirled around to find Abel standing behind her, arms folded and head tilted slightly. He was dressed in his pajamas, but had a pair of boots on his feet. Rosa flushed painfully and hoped he couldn't see it in the dark. "I… I was just…" she trailed off, floundering to come up with an excuse for sneaking out.

Abel remained silent for a long moment. Even in the bright moonlight, it was difficult for Rosa to see his expression. Finally he said, keeping his voice down so as to no wake up the family, "This has something to do with what happened to Miguel last year, doesn't it?"

"How do _you_ know about that?" she whispered as she gawked at him. When the shadowy bulk of his shoulders lifted in a shrug the answer came to her. Obviously Miguel had told him too. "When?"

"A while ago." Abel answered. "After he started talking in his sleep. When did he tell you?"

Rosa fiddled with the loop of heavy twine. "Today, but only because I found him stuck in the attic the other day." She looked up at her brother. "Are you going to tell _Mamá y Papá_?"

Another shrug and Rosa was reminded that despite his large build and slow speech, her brother was a lot smarter than people took him for. "If you mean about Miguel's story, no. They wouldn't believe it. If you mean about this," he waved a hand to indicate her and the gate, "you still haven't told me why you're trying to sneak out."

"It's dumb, but…" Rosa held out the newly made sign, the white paint almost neon bright in the moonlight.

Abel looked at it for a moment, then at her, and then back at the sign. Finally he let out something that was a cross between a sigh and a laugh. "For the statue?"

Rosa blushed again, but couldn't fight back a grin. "The crypt."

"I better come too." Abel said, reaching over her shoulder to open the gate. "Otherwise you might fall and break something. And I don't want to have to explain _that_ to _Abeulita_."

* * *

When the Rivera family entered the cemetery the next day to decorate the graves of their ancestors, it took all of three seconds for Miguel to spot the new addition to de la Cruz's crypt. He whirled to stare at Rosa and Abel, an incredulous look on his face. Rosa gave him an innocent smile and raised her eyebrows.

"What?" she said.

He just laughed. " _Loco_. Both of you."

"I think you mean 'all three of us', _primo_." Abel put in. "Because it takes one to know one."


	5. Reunion

**Title:** Reunion

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** AU

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This one mostly came as the idea of "What if they didn't know the _foto_ had been fixed?" Basically I assume that in the movie Coco told them after she died that she saved that bit with Héctor's face. This sort of explores what would have happened if she didn't die before the next _Dia de los Muertos_.

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbuh 227_ – I liked the idea of them finding out too. And them putting up the sign just fit in so well. _Ainmals1_ – I agree that Miguel _had_ to have changed in some way from his adventure. He went through too much not to. _KentuckyWallflower_ – Thank you. Creating an OC is always hard because it can so easily become a Mary/Gary Sue. And I do plan to write more of the _Shred of Proof_ story. At least a little bit… maybe. _Seth7_ – Thank you! And you aren't the only hoping for more of that.

* * *

Coco knew when her time came. She knew it as if it was an appointment that had been made. Like a doctor's appointment. And she was ready for it. After all, she had lived long enough. A hundred years in fact. She knew her living family would be sad and would miss her. She would miss them too, but Coco also knew that her _foto_ would be on the _ofrenda_ so she could visit on _Dia de los Muertos_. And as for those who had died before her, Coco was more than ready to be with them again.

Especially her _papá_.

Her family seemed to sense it too. The last few days, Coco was just too tired to get out of bed. Someone would sit with her to keep her company. Usually it was Elena or Miguel. Her daughter would hold her hand, smile and tell her about the goings on with the business and the family. At least Coco could remember Elena again. That made her daughter happy which made Coco happy too.

When Miguel sat with her, it was Coco who did most of the talking. Stories about Coco's childhood and about her _papá_. Even ones that she knew she had told him. Every scrap of detail she could so that her _papá_ 's memory was kept alive. Miguel helped by playing his guitar. All of her _papá_ 's songs and even the one he had started to write himself.

Coco was so proud of her great-grandson for bringing music back into their family. Hearing him and the other great-grandchildren playing together brought back such wonderful memories. Of dancing around as a little girl as her _papá_ played and her _mamá_ sang. Knowing that music no longer tore their family apart made Coco feel supremely content.

She smiled at him as he finished his own song. "That was lovely, _mijo_. You are going to be as good as _Papá_."

Miguel beamed with pride, dimple flashing. "I hope so, _Mamá_ Coco. I want to keep making him proud."

"I think he'll like hearing that. I'll be sure to tell him." Coco replied. There were so many things she wanted to tell her _papá_. And so many things he probably wanted to tell her too. She knew from the story of Miguel's adventure that _Papá_ loved her and missed her. That he'd tried to come home. She wanted to hear all that from him as well as all about his time in the Land of the Dead. And Coco wanted to tell him all about her life even though _Mamá_ and the others had probably already told him.

A hand touched her arm gently. " _Mamá_ Coco?"

She opened her eyes to look at her great-grandson. She hadn't even realized that she had gone silent as her thoughts focused on the reunion with her _papá_. Miguel's expression wasn't exactly worried, but it was clear he was concerned a little by the lapse. Coco smiled and patted his hand. "It's all right. Just tired. Would you mind playing my song for me, Miguel?"

"Of course not. I don't mind at all." he replied and resettled the pristine white guitar. Coco closed her eyes again as he began strumming the opening notes of _Remember Me_. Miguel's sweet young voice wasn't mature yet and Coco wondered how it would sound when it changed. Would it be a tenor like _Papá_ or would it be deeper? Berto and Abel had deeper voices, but Enrique's wasn't.

A sense of peace settled over Coco as she listened to the music. She felt a calm like she hadn't ever felt before. And a curious sense of light. Maybe she should have been alarmed, but there was absolutely no fear. Instead she just let herself drift away.

* * *

When Coco opened her eyes again, she was somewhere she didn't recognize. A large room with several empty cots. It was almost like a hospital ward except there were no privacy screens and the lights and window panes were designed to look like skulls. It wasn't _quiet_. There was a great deal of noise coming from beyond an open doorway. The sound of people moving around and the din of a large crowd.

It didn't take even a moment for Coco to realize where she was. The Land of the Dead.

Carefully she sat up on the cot she was resting on. At least her body no longer ached. She looked at her hands, flexing them and watching in quiet fascination as the bones moved together without any skin or tendons. Coco was tempted to try pulling the bones apart like how Miguel described Julio and _Papá_ coming apart. Ultimately, however, she decided against it. Mostly because she didn't know if there was a trick to reattaching a detached body part or not. Probably better to wait until someone could show her how it's done.

Looking down at herself, Coco found that she was dressed in her favourite day-dress. The cream one with the embroidered pink flowers as well as the pink shawl she used to keep the chill away. Her hair was done up just how it was in life as well, twin braids on either side. She lifted her hands to her face, since there was no mirror available. It was odd to feel bone instead of flesh and Coco could feel the divots where her markings were. Tracing each one, she wondered what colours they were. Were they like _Mamá_ 's or like _Papá_ 's? Or were they completely different?

There was no one else in the room and Coco was beginning to wonder if she should go looking for someone when she heard a scrabbling noise come from underneath her. Cautiously she leaned to the side to look over the edge of the cot. Crawling out from under it was the oddest creature she had ever seen. On the whole it looked like a rabbit with floppy ears and a bushy tail. Except that instead of fur, it had blue and pink stripe scales and turquoise deer antlers on its head. And it was tiny, about half the size of a normal rabbit, except its ears which were twice as long.

It sat up on its haunches and blinked pale blue eyes up at her. Coco stared for a moment, blinking back. "Are you… are you my _alibrije_?" she asked, holding out her hand to it. The bunny sniffed her bone fingers before climbing onto her hand. Coco lifted it up to her face. "I'll take that as a yes. Do you have a name?"

The creature yawned, revealing tiny buck teeth.

"No? Well how about I call you Velloso?" Coco smiled and gently scratched its chin. The _alebrije_ leaned into the scratches and then flopped down on her palm. She petted her new friend for a little longer. Velloso was completely adorable and as strange as Miguel's descriptions of Pepita, Dante, and Frida Kahlo's monkey. Finally she looked around again. Still no one had come into the room. Coco was getting a little annoyed and anxious to see her _familia_. "Looks like I better go find someone to help me."

She set her feet (with Rivera huaraches) on the floor, paused for a moment, and then stood up. It was something she hadn't been able to do on her own for almost a decade. Coco wobbled for a second as she found her balance. Velloso shook his (she decided the bunny was male until otherwise told) ears and hopped up her sleeve to sit on her shoulder. Coco held up a hand to him in case he lost his balance as she made her way slowly across the room to the open doorway.

The room beyond was huge and filled with people, all skeletons like her. And all were talking at once, the babble blending into an unintelligible mess. There were lines that snaked all across the room leading to a huge counter with teller windows like at a bank. There were also desks all over where uniformed agents worked on ancient computers or talked with other skeletons, alone or in groups. There were people rushing about as well. All in all, it was like the most insanely busy place she had ever seen. Seeing how busy it was, Coco was a little intimidated. Still, the desire to see her family won out and she called out to the nearest agent that wasn't in the middle of something.

"Um… excuse me, but who should I talk to about finding my family?" she asked once the man looked at her. "I belive I just arrived and I could use some help, _por favor_."

The poor man started in surprise. "Apologies, _doña_! Someone should have been in there to greet you. I'm afraid it's been a very busy _Dia de Muertos_ and…"

Coco barely listened to the rest of his hurried explanation as he ushered her to a seat at his desk. It was already _Dia de Muertos_? She must have taken a while to get here because in her last memory of being alive it had been at least a week before that date. The time between then and waking up here hadn't seemed that long.

"…so if I could get your name, _doña_ , I'll put a call out to your family. That is if we can. With it being today, they may…"

"…have already crossed the bridge to visit our living family." Coco interrupted him with an understanding smile. She waved a hand. " _De_ _nada_. I understand. Hopefully I'm not too late. So, my name is Socorro Rivera and I have several family members here already."

The man's eyes widened. "Rivera? As in _the_ Riveras? The family of the living boy from last year?"

Coco nodded; amused that Miguel had brought notoriety to the family here. "Yes, my great-grandson had quite the adventure here. Or so he told me."

"That would explain why you are adjusting to being here so well." he said with a chuckle, "Most newly dead aren't nearly as calm."

That made her cackle softly. "That and when you've lived as long as I have, _niño_ , very little surprises you anymore. Now, about my family? I really hope to catch up with them before they cross the bridge."

"Of course, of course." The man typed rapidly away at his computer for a moment before picking up the receiver of the antique rotary phone on his desk. Even through the noise of the crowd, Coco could hear it ring and ring. And ring.

And ring.

The longer it took for someone to answer, the more nervous the poor agent seemed to get. He kept glancing at her with a worried expression. Which, considering her _mamá_ 's volatile reaction to not being allowed to cross the bridge because Miguel had taken her _foto_ from the _ofrenda_ , was fair enough. He probably expected Coco to whip off her shoe at any moment and start beating the phone with it.

Coco smiled at him reassuringly. She would never do any such thing. While she had the full measure of Rivera stubbornness and pride, Coco suspected she had inherited more of her _papá_ 's calm temper rather than her _mamá_ 's sharp one. Finally, however, it looked like there was going to be no answer.

The man sighed, hung up the phone, and looked at her apologetically again. "I'm sorry, _Doña_ Rivera. It looks like no one is home. I can send someone around in person to check, but that would take a while and by then likely your family will already be on the other side."

A thought occurred to Coco. "Perhaps the Departure area? If it has been as busy there as here, could they still be in the lines to go through the scanners?"

The agent looked thoughtful and nodded. "It is possible." He picked up the phone again.

"I want to go with them to look." Coco decided. After all she didn't want to spend any more time waiting. She had waited long enough! From the man's expression, this was out of the ordinary, but Coco wasn't going to let that stop her. She was going whether someone showed her the way or not.

The agent obviously took one look at her stubborn expression and gave in without an argument. Apparently when dealing with her family, even in the Land of the Dead, it was still better to just go along with whatever they wanted. So, moments later, two security officials were escorting Coco through what she learned was the Santa Cecilia Departure Station. The walk didn't take long, though both officials kept asking if she was sure she could manage. Coco had laughed and reassured them that she felt better than she had in decades.

The Departures area was even busier than the Department of Family Reunions. At least the crowds were bigger, though the noise was a little less. Eyeing the crowd, one of her escort suggested going to the Customer Relations counter and having them make an announcement over the PA system.

Coco agreed, but, as they made their way through the crowd, Velloso suddenly jumped from Coco's shoulder. The _alebrije_ hopped a few feet away before stopping to look back at Coco.

" _¿Que?_ Velloso, come back here." Coco went after him only for the bunny to hop further and further away, always stopping to check that she was following. Coco hurried after as fast as she could, not wanting to lose him (Velloso was so small!). Finally he came to a stop near some benches where a lone skeleton man sat with a wildly coloured dog _alebrije_. Coco froze when she saw him.

She knew him.

Even though he looked nothing like she remembered. Even though he was a skeleton and no longer had his big nose or ears. Even though it had been _so long_ since she'd seen him in person, Coco still recognized her _papá_.

For his part, Héctor Rivera was sitting on the bench rather quietly, staring at the Departure gates and the flower bridge beyond with a look of longing. His clothes and straw hat were worn and patched, though the Rivera shoes on his feet were brand new. Not even a scuff on them yet. The dog (Dante, Coco realized) was resting his head on Héctor's knee and he was petting him absentmindedly.

It was Dante that noticed Velloso first. He barked happily and bounded around to sniff noses with the tiny creature. This caused Héctor to tear his gaze away from the bridge. " _¿Que pasa?_ " he said as he looked down at the _alebrijes_. One brow ridge rose as he took in the bunny.

That voice! If she had had any doubts before… "It _is_ you." Coco said quietly, taking a step forward. The movement caught his attention and the sound of her voice made him look up, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Coco…?" he breathed softly, as if not daring to believe his eyes.

" _Papá_!" she cried happily with a huge grin."

"COCO!" he shouted with joy as he jumped from the bench. The next thing Coco knew, she was quite literally swept off her feet in the biggest hug she ever had. Dante danced around them (tongue lolling and tripping over his own feet) while Velloso wisely scrambled up onto the safety of the bench to watch. "Oh Coco. _Ay, Dios mio_ , I've missed you so much! I'm sorry I ever left. So so sorry… I wanted to come home… I tried… I tried so hard, Coco…" Héctor continued to babble as he set her on her feet again, dropping to his knees in front of her. He started covering her face with kisses in between his words. " _Mija_ … My baby… my sweet little girl! I love you. _Papá_ loves you so so much!"

Coco held onto him just as tightly, laughing and babbling reassurances, love, and I-know's back at him. Even though the dead couldn't physically cry, she could tell he was sobbing by the way his shoulders and ribs shuddered against hers.

Neither of them noticed the attention they were drawing from the bystanders. Only when a loud _ahem_ sounded did Coco and her _papá_ pull away from each other. The people around them were watching the reunion, most with indulgent and amused expressions. She was positive that, if it were possible, there would have been teary eyes as well. The polite cough had come from one of Coco's two escorts and they, unlike the rest, were eyeing Héctor with suspicion. Beside her, Coco's _papá_ gulped and jumped to his feet.

"Officer Juan! Officer Carlos!" he cried with patently false cheer. His smile was a shade too wide to be believable. " _Amigos_! Is… is there a problem?"

"There usually is if you're involved." One muttered as he crossed his arms. The other set his hands on his hipbones and asked, "What sort of trouble are you up to this year, Héctor?"

Coco bit back a smile as her _papá_ chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the top of his hat. "Trouble? Me? Pfft, I'm not causing any trouble this year. I'm behaving myself! I swear! Just ask anyone." That made Coco giggle which made her _papá_ shoot her a look.

The two guards didn't look at all convinced. Coco stepped up, taking one of _Papá_ 's hands. "It's true. Everything is all right. This is _mi papá_ and since he's a part of my family, I'm in good hands. _Gracias_ for your help, gentlemen."

They still looked unconvinced. " _Doña_ , are you sure?" The first one asked.

"Positive." She replied firmly. "Now, shoo. I'm sure you have other duties to take care of. And don't worry. I'll keep _Papá_ out of any other mischief."

"Ha ha." Héctor said dryly. "Very funny, _mija_. Very funny."

This made some of the watching crowd chuckle and reluctantly the two guards left. Coco kept a hold of Héctor's hand as she guided them over to the bench he had been sitting on. She scooped up Velloso as she sat down, patting the spot next to her for Héctor. He dropped down on the bench as well and grinned at Velloso as the bunny burrowed in the crook of Coco's arm. Now that she had the chance for a second look, Coco noticed that his bones were a few shades off the pure white hers were. She wondered if that was because of how long he'd been dead or (once she compared him to the other skeletons around them) because of how long he had been nearly forgotten. There was still tape holding one of his arms together, but Coco hadn't noticed her _papá_ limping like Miguel had said.

"Your _mamá_ is going to be so mad that she wasn't here to greet you." Héctor said with a chuckle. "They'll probably come running right back as soon as they realize you aren't there."

"They tried to call, but there was no answer. That's why I came down here. I'd hope to catch you all before you left for the other side." That reminded her. " _Papá_ , how come you're here?"

Héctor looked down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. "I… I died, Coco. After I left, I got homesick. I wanted to come back to you and your _mamá_ so much. But when I tried, Ernesto… the friend I left with… he…" he trailed off for a moment, looking away. There was a hard bitterly angry expression on his face that was all wrong. It didn't belong on her _papá_ 's normally cheerful face. Coco put her arm around him in a hug. Héctor gave her a brief sad smile and finished, "he poisoned me. That's why I never came back."

"I know about that. Miguel told me." At his surprised look, Coco smiled. "That boy tells me anything and everything. It shouldn't be a surprise that he told me about his adventure here. With you. Besides, that wasn't what I meant. I wanted to know why you aren't with the others visiting our living family." The smile dropped as she thought of something. "Unless _Mamá_ hasn't forgiven you yet?"

"Oh, no! No, no, no, she has!" Héctor waved his hands in reassurance and grinned. "Imelda even let me come back to the house. Of course, she made me sleep on the sofa for a couple of months. Which was fine! I totally deserved it! I would've been willing to sleep there forever if it meant I was part of the family again. And it's a nice sofa! Very soft. Best I've ever slept on, really!"

Coco could tell he was trying to distract her. " _Papá_ …" she chided in The Mother Voice. It was the one that had been used on her as a child and the one she used on her own children and grandchildren in turn. The one that every mother used when someone was trying to pull a fast one.

Her _papá_ wilted and curled in on himself, shoulders hunched. "I… I wanted to. Really I did, but… Miguel… My photo. It was lost before we could send him home. And with no _foto_ on the _ofrenda_ ," and he gestured to the lines, scanners, and agents, "no crossing the bridge. And believe me, I've _tried_."

She couldn't help but chuckle, delighted by the surprise she was about to give him. Of course none of them would know. She hadn't told anyone until last year that she'd saved her _papá_ 's letters and the piece of the family photo. " _Ay, Papá_ …"

"Héctor! HÉCTOR!" A shout from the bridge interrupted Coco. Both of them looked up to see their family hurrying back across the bridge. Coco's twin _tíos_ , having longer legs, outpaced the rest to arrive first. They rushed to one of the barred windows between the Departure and Re-entry gates. "You're there!" "Your photo… I don't know how Miguel did it!" "It's there! You can cross…"

Héctor's jaw literally unhinged, dropping free, as the twins spoke over each other. Coco caught it and, laughing, set it back in his skull before his eyes popped free as well. "I was just about to tell you about that, _Papá_." Raising her voice, she called out mischievously, " _Hola Tío_ Óscar, _Tío_ Felipe."

"Oh! Hello Coco." Felipe answered as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about her presence in the Land of the Dead. A beat later both twins gasped and shrieked in surprised unison, "COCO!"

That got the rest of the family's attention. They all rushed to join the twins and Coco went to the window as well, reaching through the bars to clasp hands with her loved ones. There was more babbling as her family threw aside their dignity for their joy at her being with them again.

Finally her _mamá_ took them in hand again. "Enough! All of you. Enough of this foolishness. There will be time enough to celebrate our Coco's arrival, but I will not miss out on another holiday!" Imelda pointed at Coco (and Héctor). "You two get over here right now so we can get on with visiting our _familia_."

" _Si, Mamá_." Coco replied and turned back to her father.

Who was still sitting on the bench with a fearfully hopeful expression. As if he didn't dare believe their family was right about his _foto_ being on the _ofrenda_ , but at the same time couldn't quite disbelieve it either. Dante and Velloso were both nudging him in an effort to get him moving. But Héctor was frozen in place. Only when Coco stood in front of him, did he seem to come unstuck enough to look up at her.

Coco held out both hands to him. " _Vámonos a casa, Papá_."

His jaw trembled for a moment at those words, but slowly that smile of his won out and he stood. Putting his hands in hers, Héctor said, " _Vamos_ , Coco."


	6. Shred of Proof 2

**Title:** Shred of Proof, Part two

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** mishandling of a criminal case.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** Ok! So by popular demand, here is the second part to my first chapter _Shred of Proof_. And I'm thinking there will be at least a third chapter for this as well. Please note that some of the things brought up may be seen as strange or creepy. Also, while I was Googling things, I kept feeling the need to say out loud "I am _not_ a serial killer. I am a fanfic writer!" Anyone else feel that way?

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbuh 227_ – I like that part too It was something that I had planned from the very start of coming up with the idea for that chapter. And I liked coming up Velloso too. _Ainmals1_ – I would have liked to have included Pepita, but I figured that with how busy I indicated the departure area being, something that size wouldn't exactly be welcome. _InvderLava_ – I'm glad you like them! _Teddi 8347_ – LOL My sister was the one to get me into fandom in the first place, though we don't follow the same ones. I'm glad you and your sister are enjoying this. And sure, shoot me a PM with your idea! _Donteatacowman_ – Great to hear!

* * *

It was a fairly typical day for April in México City. Sunny but relatively cool at 20 degrees Celsius. Tourists from Northern climates loved it. Detective Marco Garcia always gave them the side-eyes. For him it was far too cool to go running around half dressed like they were. At least it was coming to the end of the dry season.

The detective waited patiently outside his friend's classroom, a set of files in one hand and a heavy paper bag in the other. He had some information for Professor André Ramirez about the investigation that boy from Santa Cecilia had set them on. Almost three months ago, André had brought Miguel Rivera and his uncle to see him. The boy wanted help in finding out what had happened to his great-great-grandfather, one Héctor Rivera.

Marco liked history and liked looking for things other people often missed. It was those talents that had been leading him on a career speciality of a cold-case detective. He liked bringing closure to families and justice down on those who had escaped it for too long.

This, however, was the coldest case he had ever attempted.

Almost a century cold.

While his uncle hadn't shared his conviction, Miguel had been certain that _something_ had happened to his great-great-grandfather. Something that had prevented the man from returning to his family. Though he hadn't said it, André had later told Marco that Miguel suspected murder. And Miguel's prime suspect was none other than the Great Ernesto de la Cruz.

Marco had been skeptical. After all, it wasn't unheard of for a young man to abandon an inconvenient wife and child. Especially if they interfered with a life pursuing fame. It happened often enough in this day and age for similar reasons. No reason to think that it couldn't happen back then. In fact, it would've been easier a hundred years ago as there wasn't much reason for the law to get involved in such cases.

But Miguel had been adamant that his _Papá_ Héctor wouldn't do that. He loved his wife and daughter and nothing short of death would've stopped him from coming home. And Marco had to admit, after reading the Rivera letters that André was analyzing; the boy might have had a point. There was nothing there to indicate that Héctor Rivera was anything other than a loving husband and father.

So Marco agreed to look into it. Using the date of the final letter as a starting point, he had delved into the police archives, looking for anything that might be pertinent. It was hard; there wasn't much to go on. Especially since the Riveras admitted that, since no one ever contacted the family about Héctor Rivera's death, it was likely that he had ended up as a Jon Doe case.

Finally, after months of slogging through moldy and half legible records, Marco managed to find something.

Students began to leave the classroom, many giving the uniformed police officer startled and curious looks. Marco could overhear some whispered speculations about why he was there, though he gave no sign of hearing. There were one or two nervous expressions that probably meant someone was guilty of something (like underage drinking or recreational drug use), but technically Marco wasn't on duty so he wasn't going to do anything. Besides no one was doing anything illegal right in front of him and Marco could still remember what it was like being a college student.

When the last of them left, he stepped up to the open door and tapped lightly on the frame with one knuckle. André, looking slightly harassed, looked up from his desk. " _Ay, gracias a dios_ , you're here." He shuffled several papers into a stack and shoved the lot into one of the drawers. "Let's go outside. I feel like I've been stuck in here for days. If I don't see the sun soon, I'll go mad."

"Are the little _niños_ giving you trouble?" Marco asked cheerfully.

"Their big assignment is due next week and I've already had half the class begging me for more time!" André complained, rolling his eyes. "Not to mention my phone has been ringing off the hook ever since the announcement last month."

After the analysis of the letters proved them authentic and the handwriting confirmed as _not_ belonging to Ernesto de la Cruz, André had travelled to Santa Cecilia and done a press conference. The entire country was shocked to learn that the beloved _músico_ wasn't the musical genius everyone thought he was. That he was nothing more than a thief, claiming someone else's songs as his own.

At the same time, the ownership of his famous guitar (the one that had hung in his crypt) had also been called into question. The Rivera's had taken possession of it (though under rather ambiguous circumstances) and had photographic proof that it had once belonged to Héctor Rivera. The family photo was backed up by the poster in André Ramirez's collection. A detailed examination of it had shown the white guitar in the hands of Héctor instead of de la Cruz. Tracing the serial number on the guitar had also shown it had been purchased by Rodrigo and Delores Rivera as a wedding gift to their new son-in-law.

Some tried to say that the guitar had been gifted to Ernesto. There was, after all, no record of it being sold to him. In fact, it's not even mentioned in his autobiography until after 1925. But Héctor Rivera's daughter, Socorro, was absolutely firm that her _papá_ would never give away his prized beloved guitar. One journalist, during the press conference when it was brought up, had called her a liar. He'd ended up with a concussion from the well-aimed _chancla_ of Elena Rivera.

No one was allowed to call her _mamá_ a liar.

"That's what you get for setting the country on its ears, _mi amigo_." Marco said. They walked through the halls and out into the university commons. "And we might just do it again if we prove young Miguel's theory true."

That made André give him a sharp look. "You found something." It wasn't a question.

Marco nodded and tapped the file folders in his hand with one finger. " _Sí_. I believe I have found Héctor Rivera." He paused as his friend looked at the files with interest. "Or at least his autopsy report."

André looked for a moment like he wanted to snatch the files right then to read what was there. Then he shook his head. "Let's get something to eat first. I had to skip breakfast and I'm starving."

"We don't have to get anything, _amigo_." Marco replied with a laugh as he held up the paper bag. "I got us covered. My sister-in-law packed my lunch. There's more than enough for both of us." It was true. The woman meant well, but for some reason she was convinced that, because he was a permanent bachelor, Marco was in danger of starving to death. He liked to tease her that she was really an _abuela_ trapped in the body of a 30 year-old. It usually earned him a smack with whatever cooking utensil was in her hand. But, really, that just proved his point. In any case, she was an excellent cook.

The two of them made their way to one of the picnic tables that were scattered about the commons. After sharing out his lunch, Marco opened the first file. "Are you sure you want to do this while eating? I have no problems, but I'm used to doing this."

André shrugged. "Honestly, I'd rather not wait."

"Okay then. It took some digging, but I did find a few autopsy reports that were from the right time frame. They had just started doing photos as a matter of protocol so I put them into our facial recognition software and did a comparison with Miguel's photo." He flipped the file around and slid it across to André. The photograph attached to the report was a grainy black and white headshot. "Once I had a match, it wasn't too difficult to get the case file and we got lucky there. Most of the other files in the box were damaged beyond use. I would love to know where Miguel got his information. Some of his guesses were spot on."

Indeed, there were quite a number of little details that Miguel had given about his great-great-grandfather that were… weirdly specific. Like he had likely died near a train station, which he _had_ a mere five blocks away. That Héctor Rivera had a gold tooth; it wasn't found but the coroner at the time noted a tooth missing and there were traces that suggested it had been gold. Supposedly he had been wearing a charro suit at the time of death, but, like the tooth, had probably been stolen off the body before it had been found by police. He _was_ identified as a musician though by the string calluses on his fingers.

Then there was Miguel's supposition that Héctor's death was not natural. That it could have been poison. That lined up with the coroner's report. According to the report, there was no underlying medical reason (known at the time) for why a young and apparently otherwise healthy man would drop dead in the street. Especially considering there were no signs of violence on the body. But whether it was accidental or deliberate poisoning was the question. The coroner had noted a smell of alcohol as well as remnants of a final meal of _chorizo_ which could indicate food or alcohol poisoning. Samples of hair, tissues, and stomach contents were taken and sent off for testing.

"So you're thinking he is what?" André gave Marco a sardonic look. "The reincarnation of his great-great-grandfather? With all the memories of how he died still intact and is trying to get justice for his death? That's a little _loco_ , my friend."

Marco gave an amused snort. "Ha ha. It's certainly more plausible than the theory that he somehow traveled to the Land of the Dead to talk to the guy in person."

André tried to laugh and nearly chocked on a mouthful of food for his troubles. "You're joking! Who came up with _that_ crazy idea?"

"One of the guys at the station." He replied with a shrug. "But he is kinda known for being a little too into that superstitious mumbo-jumbo stuff anyway. In all seriousness, I wish we could give the Riveras more definitive answers. The cause of death _might_ have been poisoning but the samples taken to prove by what were lost before they were analyzed. We already know the family never reported him missing or came forward to claim the body so the investigation stymied. Eventually the cause was listed as 'Unknown' and the case shelved. Héctor Rivera was buried in a common unmarked grave, probably with five or six other poor sods."

André winced at that last part. "So even if we knew where he's buried, we can't give Miguel anything more exact than which cemetery his great-great-grandfather is in." He sighed, which Marco echoed. "It just doesn't seem fair, you know."

"There's more bad news. The cemetery doesn't even exist anymore." It was true. Marco had done a quick search only to find that, because of the damage done by either the 1957 or 1985 earthquakes, there was no record of where the cemetery used for such burials had been. He had found an old map of the city that showed some possibilities but, using a modern map for comparison, the area had clearly been redeveloped at some point.

"Frustrating." André groaned, rubbing his face after Marco explained that. "Though, if you don't mind my saying, there seems to be some mishandling of the original investigation there. Ah well, we've done our best, I suppose. There's just been too much time. It's not like we can go back in time to fix any of that."

Marco didn't argue about the lack of concern by the law enforcement back then to solve the mystery. The lost samples weren't the only bungled thing. A potential witness had been interviewed at the time, claiming that another man had been with Héctor Rivera when he'd collapsed and had stood by doing nothing as the man died. Unfortunately it was never followed up on as the witness was a known crazy drunkard, so his statements were dismissed. "Truer words, _mi amigo_. If we had a body we could do more, but…"

"Lost burials turn up where you least expect them. Even here in México City." A young female voice spoke up. Both men looked up, startled, to find a young co-ed with her arms full of books. She blushed and ducked her head a little. "I… I didn't mean to butt in, _Señors_. It's just that… I couldn't help but notice what you were talking about."

André and Marco exchanged looks. "You mean like that English king, correct?" André asked kindly. The young woman nodded vigorously, but Marco looked confused at both. When that was noticed André continued to explain, "King Richard III. His bones were found about six years ago under a parking lot where an old friary, I think, was."

" _Sí_. But it's also happened here, especially since the area is rather ideal for natural mummies." The young woman said. "I'm majoring in Archeology and Anthropology. My professor, _Señor_ Serrano, was showing us some of the specimens from his private collection. There was even one found not far from here that is in excellent condition, though _Señor_ Serrano suspects that it's more than just the natural mummification or even embalming."

Marco sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think I remember something about that. And, now that I think about it, it _was_ in one of the areas I was looking at." He gave André a meaningful look and then a huff of a laugh. "Wouldn't it be ironic if this guy has the body we're looking for?"

"If only ironic was the least of it. Serrano is not…" André paused looking a little uncomfortable, "the easiest man to deal with. He hasn't liked me ever since I became the Head of the Department. I think he believes that a linguist shouldn't be in charge. That it's not a prodigious enough field to represent the History Department." He said the last in a tone of disgust. Then he looked at the young woman. "Your pardon, _señorita_ …"

"Alejandra Herdez, _Señor_ Ramirez." She shrugged. "And it is what it is. I know what _Señor_ Serrano is like."

"Before we get too excited over this, we should check if it is a fat goose to chase." Marco said slowly. He picked up the photo from the autopsy report. Normally he would be hesitant about showing a random person such a photograph, but seeing as Alejandra had already studied actual bodies in class… " _Señorita_ Herdez, would you be able to tell us if this man was one of the specimens your professor showed your class?" And Marco held out the photo.

Alejandra shuffled the books in her arms and took the picture. She looked at it for a moment. Marco and André could both tell by the way her eyes widened what the answer was. She glanced around furtively and then back at them as she handed the photo back to Marco. Lowering her voice so only they could hear her, Alejandra said, "I feel I should warn you. I don't think _Señor_ Serrano knows yet exactly _who_ he has in his collection, but once he does… Places like the Museo de las Momias de Guanjuato have already made offers on that specimen because it is so well preserved. Once anyone finds out it is the remains of the songwriter _Señor_ Héctor Rivera, the family may have a hard time getting them back." She looked around again and ducked her head. "I should go. I have studying to do."

" _Gracias, señorita_ , for your information." Marco said. André nodded and added, "We'll keep your name out of this in case Serrano asks who told us. I don't believe he would retaliate, but better to be safe. And you don't deserve to have your grades in danger."

Alejandra flashed a smile and hurried away. The two men sat in silence for a moment. André rattled his fingers against the picnic table before saying, "That wasn't what I expected."

"Indeed." Marco agreed. "How likely is it that this guy will cooperate with us? Or should I just go ahead and try to get a court-order?"

"If it was just me asking," He shook his head and sighed, "a court-order would be necessary. You would have a better chance." Then André smiled. "Or even better, we have the family confront him."

Marco chuckled in agreement. "That Miguel _is_ very persuasive. And if we brought in his _abuela_ , she'd probably scare him into cooperating within seconds. After all, the entire country saw what she did to that reporter." He picked up the autopsy photo. Thoughtfully he said, "That _señorita_ seemed pretty certain this was our guy."

"Not surprising. That nose is pretty distinctive."

"Still," Marco said after humming in agreement, "a DNA test would prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Well then, we'll have to go to Santa Cecilia to get it." André replied. "Miguel's _Mamá_ Coco is too old and frail to make the trip here."

Marco made a face. He was a big city boy at heart and going to a small town like Santa Cecilia was not anywhere on his list of things he liked to do. He would, of course. Marco _had_ agreed to help Miguel in any way he could, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "I'll talk to the chief about getting the time off. And get one of the DNA kits from the lab."


	7. No One Messes With the Family

**Title:** No One Messes With the Family

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** some fat-shaming.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This one is for a fic prompt that I received from _Rio_ _Storm_. It's not exactly what you asked for, but I hope you like it. I got most of the way through this chapter and realized that I hadn't even gotten as far as I wanted. So this is going to end up a two-parter as well. Again I must remind you all that I know absolutely nothing about Mexican cuisine. Pretty much why I didn't specify what Marco's lunch was in the last chapter.

 **Reviews:** _pamela1967_ – I write as fast as the ideas come. Mostly it's the posting that takes time. Because of my work I don't always have internet available. Plus I do this purely as a hobby. _Guest (Teddi 8347?)_ – Maybe it is a little conventional; you'll both have to wait for the next instalment. As for your idea, it's a good one and I may have to think on it a bit to come up with something. _Agent Numbuh 227_ – Glad you liked it. I do plan on at least one more chapter on it. _Guest hybrid_ – Natural mummies do exist in Mexico, though not so much in México City (I fudged that part). The place I mentioned (the mummy museum) is a real thing! And I didn't want it to be too easy for them to find answers in the case files. And I liked the idea of André and Marco discussing how Miguel knew so much and laughing at the suggestion of the truth. _Storyteller362_ – Good to hear! _Fariedragon_ – Thank you!

* * *

It was four months after _The_ Day of the Dead. That fateful _Día de Muertos_ when everything changed (for the better!) for Héctor. Yeah, there had been some not so nice things, like finding out he'd been murdered by his (former) best friend and nearly being Forgotten by the last living person who remembered him. Still, meeting his great-great-grandson and getting to reconcile with his family more than out-weighted that.

Now he was settling into the new normal. It hadn't been smooth sailing, of course. One heartfelt (if belated) apology and an unthinking embrace after an unexpected performance couldn't entirely make up for the years of anger and mistrust caused by a broken promise and an untimely death far from home. He and Imelda _had_ managed to sit down for a very long talk, though even _that_ had taken several weeks of goading from the rest of the family. Afterwards, Héctor had heard Felipe remark to Óscar that their talk had to have gone well since there were no signs of newly broken bones on Héctor. That had earned the twins smacks from Imelda who had heard them as well.

Héctor now lived with them and eagerly insisted on helping in the _zapatería_. The family quickly learned that he was actually rather useless in the workshop, much to his chagrin. He couldn't sew a seam to save his afterlife (probably why his clothes were such rags before), Whenever he used a hammer he tended to hit his own thumbs more often than not, and if he was using the buffing wheel shoes had a tendency to end up embedded in the ceiling. At least Héctor's embarrassment and frustration were tempered by amusement on learning his clumsiness was probably an inheritable trait. Apparently another of his great-great-grandsons, Miguel's cousin Abel, had a similar habit.

If that was true, Héctor felt very very sorry for the poor kid.

Thankfully there was one area of the business that he excelled at. Selling shoes. Héctor was naturally a people-person and the art of a good sales pitch wasn't all that different from that of creating songs. Add to that all his years of experience at wheedling favours out of people for his bridge-crossing schemes and Héctor had managed to triple the number of shoe orders. The others weren't sure whether to be impressed or annoyed because of the extra work.

This day, however, he was at loose ends. Imelda had decided to close the front of the shop for the day so that they could concentrate on getting all those orders done. Héctor had been asked (asked! Not ordered!) to kindly keep out. He had understood, of course. After all, they didn't need to be distracted by any Héctor-created disasters. He had been helping Rosita with some of the household chores earlier, but she had gone out on some errands and had insisted she could manage without him.

"Just enjoy the day, _Papá_ Héctor." She had said, smiling at him. "Relax or work on those songs you've been talking about." Of all his in-laws, he probably got along best with her. Not to say that he didn't get on with the twins or Julio. It was just that there seemed to be more awkwardness with them. The twins had known him in life, but had also had to watch their sister go through all the heartache that his leaving had caused. And in Julio's case, it was the awkwardness of trying to wrap his mind around the fact that this was the man who had wedded his baby girl.

Rosita, on the other hand, was so sweet and kindly that it was easy to get along with her. And her very close friendship with Coco gave the two of them a great deal to talk about while Héctor recovered from his brush with the Final Death (which was something that one didn't easily brush off). She had been telling him all sorts of stories about his daughter's childhood, some of the scrapes she had gotten into that Imelda probably didn't know about. And all about Julio's courtship of Coco, the embarrassing stuff that neither one probably wanted anyone to know about.

So he was doing what she suggested, sitting in the courtyard between the main house and the workshop. A bench had been fitted around the base of the large tree that shaded most of the yard. That was where Héctor sat, fiddling around on Chicharrón's old guitar. It had been fished out of Ernesto's pool after Miguel's fall into it during that dumb party. Since everyone at the party had seen the boy using it and once it came out that Miguel was _not_ Ernesto's great-great-grandson but was a Rivera, it had been returned to the family. In fact, it was the only thing out of Ernesto's home that Héctor and Imelda agreed to take. There was nothing else of his that either of them wanted.

It may have been old, battered, and abused, but the sentimental value of the guitar made it worth far more than any of the fancier ones offered to him. It fit him better in that it was much like he, himself, had been. Besides Héctor couldn't help the feeling that Cheech would want him to have the guitar anyway.

Héctor just let his fingers wander over the strings. He wasn't playing any particular song, just snatches and bits that just _felt_ appropriate. It was odd to be playing again after so many years. He hadn't quite banned music from his afterlife like Imelda had done, but it had certainly soured for him after hearing the travesties that Ernesto had turned his songs into. Playing for Cheech had actually been the first time he'd even touched a guitar in well over a decade.

Miguel had not only brought him back to the family, but had brought Héctor back to music. And Héctor didn't know if he'd ever be able to thank the boy enough for any of it.

He was so engrossed with his playing that when the gate banged open, the sudden noise made him jump out of his figurative skin. Héctor clutched the guitar against his ribcage to keep from fumbling it and looked up, expecting maybe to see Imelda about to yell at him for his distracting music. Instead it was Rosita. She all but sprinted across the courtyard and in through the kitchen door, closing it behind her with a force that was just under a slam.

She hadn't acknowledged him at all and Héctor wasn't certain she had even noticed him there. What really caught his attention, however, was the expression she had. It was one Héctor had never seen on her before. Rosita was upset and furious over something. And if it were possible, she might have been struggling to hold back tears. And _that_ tugged at him.

Héctor sat for a moment, not sure what to do. All those fatherly instincts that he hadn't used in almost a hundred years were screaming at him to _do something!_ But at the same time, if there was _one_ thing that he'd learned over that same century, it's that you should always approach an upset or angry Rivera woman with extreme caution. Yes, Rosita wasn't born a Rivera, but she had evidently absorbed enough of that stubbornness and force of nature just from being accepted into the family.

She was such a part of the family and so close to his daughter that Héctor could easily have seen himself seeing her as a second daughter had he lived. Heck, he almost saw her like that now! This was a little amusing just from the fact she had lived to an older age than he had.

A quick glance at the workshop showed that none of the others had heard anything. No one had come out to investigate in any case. That suited Héctor. Though Rosita wore her heart on her sleeve more than the rest, she probably wouldn't want everyone to know she was upset. He set the guitar on the bench and slowly headed for the kitchen door. As he got closer, he could hear the rattle and bang of pots and bowls.

He hesitated again. Rosita was starting to bake by the sounds of it. In life she had had a habit of stress baking, according to what he'd learned from the others. That habit apparently carried over. In fact the morning after _Día de Muertos_ , she had nearly baked enough to feed an army. _Empanadas, besos, milhojas, churros, conchas_. If there was a type of sweet bread or pastry in all of México that she did _not_ know how to make, Héctor would be vastly surprised.

Sometimes he wondered why she never opened her own bakery. Then again, Santa Cecilia had been a very small town when he'd left and the rest of the family had told him that it hadn't grown all that much since. And there was only so much baking that such a small town could absorb.

Still Imelda would probably be annoyed if they had to go through yet another mountain of sweets. He might be able to make it okay if he suggested taking the surplus to Shantytown. His friends there would appreciate it. The dead didn't _need_ to eat to survive like the living did (there had been times when he had gone years without eating, choosing instead to share out what little he'd scrounged with his found- _familia_ ), but most still enjoyed eating for pleasure.

Héctor opened the door quietly and stepped inside. Already Rosita was elbow deep in mixing, the counter liberally dusted with flour and other containers of ingredients were littered all over. He eyed the electric mixer going at full whirl with some apprehension. It was something called a 'Kitchen Aid' and he'd been threatened within an inch of his afterlife not to touch it. The sound it was making was like nails on a chalkboard. The oven was also starting to heat up the kitchen.

She still didn't notice him. Héctor took off his straw hat and fidgeted with it for a moment. "Ah… _hola_ , Rosita." He said a little nervously. Rosita tensed up as he spoke but remained facing away. "You're back sooner than I thought you would." He paused again, but still no answer except for her to draw her head down on her shoulders, practically tucking her skull into the top of her ribcage. It was a habit she shared with her brother. "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Rosita said, "Some. But the market really was far too busy today. I'll have to go again later. When there aren't so many… people around." Her tone was cheerful and maybe it would fool the others, but he could hear the forced effort behind it. And if the smile she gave him _wasn't_ a fake, he'd eat a pair of Imelda's boots without sauce.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, trying to catch her eye.

"Everything's fine, _Papá_ Héctor." Rosita was avoiding his look, concentrating on measuring out exact amounts. "Everything's… perfect…"

Héctor waited a beat and then sighed, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, no. That… that's no good. If you're going to lie, you _have_ to sell it a lot better than that." He put a playful teasing note in his voice as he spoke. "Trust me on this. Ninety percent of a believable lie is in the presentation."

Rosita did not return his joking grin.

He let his grin drop and moved closer to her, dropping his hat on the table. "Rosita… What's wrong?"

She focused so hard on the bowl in front of her that it was a wonder it didn't burst into flames. " _Nothing_. I said everything is _fine_. It's not like I saw a bunch of old schoolmates talking and laughing about old pranks like falsely courting someone just as a joke because you'd never serious want a girl that looks like a pregnant _sow_." The last word was practically bitten off. The more she talked the less angry Rosita sounded and the more upset.

Héctor frowned a little. Imelda had photographs all around the house, most taken from in the Land of the Living when they were all alive. He'd spent more than one day looking through them, so he knew what everyone had looked like when alive. And yes, Rosita had been a little larger than most people, but calling her _that_ was beyond cruel. "Rosita, you… you know that's not true. You're lovely and any man should be happy to have you as a wife!"

"You have to say that." she retorted grumpily. Her chin wobbled as she flicked off the mixer and dumped the dough onto the counter. Kneading it roughly, she continued. "You're family."

As much as being called family made Héctor want to let out a joyful _grito_ , this was not the time. "Rosita, _I've_ only been family for four months. And if anyone in this family could be considered ugly, it would be me."

Now she gave him a confused look. "But you're always talking about how _muy guapo_ you are."

"Of course I say I am." He replied with a laugh. "But I also know how I actually looked. Remember, I had a nose that an elephant would envy and ears that could shelter half of Santa Cecilia when it rained. I was also skinny as a beanpole and had all the grace of a new born calf." He leaned on an elbow on the counter and wiggled his brow ridges as comically as he could, making her give a tiny giggle. "The only thing I had going for me was my music. How I managed to convince Imelda to fall in love with me, I'll never know."

There was a tiny smile on Rosita's face, but it faded quickly as she worked the dough. "Well, _I_ also know that I was _fat_ in life. And I'm still 'big boned' here. You couldn't help how you looked, but _I_ could have been more careful about watching how much I ate."

Héctor watched her mix the dough and portion it onto a baking sheet. "But would it have made you any happier?" She paused and looked at him again. Héctor shrugged. "Baking seems to make you feel better. I'm the same way with music. But when I gave it up, I wasn't any happier, just maybe hurting a little less." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Besides, outward beauty can be a fleeting thing. Inward beauty usually lasts longer and you _are_ lovely where it's most important. Inside. And if some fool was too _estúpido_ to see that, then _he_ wasn't worthy of _you_."

Rosita still looked skeptical as she set the first pan in the oven. Héctor felt a bit frustrated. Clearly nothing he or any of the family could say would help. _They_ couldn't prove how wonderful she was because, like Rosita had said, they were family. Getting the same sort of reassurances might be more effective if they came from strangers though. People who have few or no preconceptions of Rosita. Suddenly the vague idea of taking the excess baking to Shantytown took on a new spin.

And there was also the matter of the ones who sent her into this spiral of self-loathing. Héctor had more than a little experience with bullies. Gustavo and his crew weren't the only ones to ever make fun of him for his supposed 'death by _chorizo_ '. Héctor had done his best to ignore or avoid the worst offenders. A few, after it came out that Ernesto had murdered him, had come forward to apologise. Some he could tell were actually sincere, some he knew were only trying to curry favour, and not nearly enough bothered to even try.

Héctor wasn't a vindictive person. He absolutely had _nothing_ to do with the number of _alebrijes_ that randomly banged on that bell before the authorities dragged Ernesto out from under it. That was his story and he was sticking to it. But as far as he was concerned, no one had the right to treat a member of _his_ family so poorly. To do anything, however, he'd need more information on the culprits. He couldn't get that information from Rosita because he didn't want her to know he was going to do anything. She might find it even more embarrassing. That left asking one of the others and there was probably only one who would know about any old schoolroom bullies. Julio.

Leaving Rosita to continue her baking, Héctor slipped out of the house and crossed the courtyard. The sounds of industrious work going on in the workshop could be heard through the propped open windows. Not wanting to break his promise to keep out, Héctor popped his skull free and, with one arm, stuck it inside. He hoped that Julio wasn't at an important point in shoe-making.

"What do you want, Héctor?" Imelda asked. Héctor silently yelped and nearly dropped his head. Turning his hand so he could look at her, Héctor gave a sheepish grin. She hadn't even looked up from her work.

"Uh… nothing?… Just checking how you're doing? Maybe?" He knew that was utterly unbelievable. He could never fool Imelda. She just looked up at him with _that_ look.

" _What_ do you have up your sleeves?"

Héctor pulled his head back, set it back on his neck, and stepped inside. "I don't have anything up my sleeves, Imelda." He looked down at his bare arms. "I don't even _have_ sleeves anymore." His old worn jacket had long since been mended and fixed into a vest. His bad joke got the twins to snicker and even managed a smile out of Victoria. Imelda stopped her work and raised her eyes to the ceiling, obviously asking for patience.

" _Héctor_ …" she started.

"I just need to borrow Julio for a moment. Just for a couple of minutes." He rushed over her words. "I promise he'll come right back." Still she looked annoyed, so he added, "And I'll tell you everything later, I swear."

Poor Julio looked between his _suegra_ and his _suegro_ nervously.

Imelda eyed Héctor for a very long moment before giving an exasperated sigh. "Fine. But this better be good."

He nodded, grabbed Julio's arm, and dragged the shorter man out of the shop quickly before his wife could change her mind. Héctor brought them over to the bench where he'd left his guitar. Before Julio could ask what was going on Héctor said without preamble, "Rosita's baking."

Julio's eyes widened and he gulped. "What happened this time?"

"She only told me that she ran into some old schoolmates at the market." He hedged around the truth. He had a feeling that Rosita would want what exactly was said known. Julio was quick though and that was all he needed to get an idea who the schoolmates were and what they might have said about his sister.

He frowned, his thick mustache bristling. "What do you have planned?"

"I'm not going to tell you." Héctor sat back with an easy grin. "That way you can honestly tell Imelda you have no idea what I'm doing. Besides we _all_ know how Imelda handles these things and I want to take care of it myself."

" _Mamá_ Imelda isn't going to like being kept out of the loop." Julio warned, wringing his hands. "But what do you need to know?"


	8. Mi Esposo

**Title:** Mi Esposo

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This sort of popped up a while ago and I really wanted to write it

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbuh 227_ – I liked the idea of that too as it does give a perfect reason for him to bond with Rosita _Teddi8347_ – Thank you! _TomatoSoupful_ – I totally agree. As someone who is overweight, I can totally feel what she did, though I've been lucky enough not to hear that sort of thing said about me. _Pamela1967_ – It should be fun. As soon as he tells me! Lol _ainmals1_ – I noticed that part of the opening as well. _Dragonrider1234_ – Glad you're liking things so far. _Seth7_ – I liked that part too. I can just picture Héctor doing just that and completely denying any involvement. _Guest_ – Don't worry. They'll learn better! _157yrs_ – Thank you!

* * *

 _Él no era mi esposo._

He was _not_ my husband.

Those words ran through Imelda's mind any time someone brought him up. She didn't need some useless musician. She could manage, _would_ manage, just fine on her own. She could provide for herself and Coco. It didn't matter that he'd left her to chase that stupid dream of his. It didn't matter that he'd stopped writing or sending money back. It didn't matter that fame had gone so to his head that he'd clearly forgotten about his own family.

It didn't matter that it hurt so much that Héctor had abandoned them.

Imelda couldn't, _wouldn't_ , waste time on dwelling on her heartache. She _had_ to focus that energy on more useful things. Like learning her newly-chosen trade. If she could learn to make shoes and make them well, she and Coco would be fine. There wasn't any other choice. She had to support herself and her daughter on her own. Her bothers were helping as much as they could, but they were still young. Besides, Imelda didn't want to rely on another ever again.

* * *

 _Él no es como mi esposo_.

He is _not_ like my husband.

It was what she thought the day Coco brought home the nervous young man. This man, Julio, couldn't be less like the man who had been her husband if he tried. Julio was short, stout, with a thick moustache. _He_ had been tall, skinny, and only managed a goatee on the end of his chin. But the difference wasn't just physically. Julio was nervous and intimidated by Imelda. _He_ had never been intimidated and had far too much confidence for Imelda's liking.

She firmly ignored the thought that _that_ had been what had drawn her to Héctor in the first place.

But it was Julio's willingness to learn her trade that convinced her to allow the relationship between him and her precious daughter. It meant he was solid and dependable. Utterly unlike _him_. Julio wasn't ever going to abandon Coco and disappear to chase a fantasy. He'd remain with his family and be there when Coco would need him. Imelda never wanted her Coco to go through the pain that she had. And she would do everything in her power to prevent that.

* * *

" _¡Tú no eres mi esposo!"_

"You are _not_ my husband!"

Those words were what she snarled at the shocked skeleton the day she arrived in the Land of the Dead. Imelda had lived the rest of her life peacefully and without music. Without _him_. And she hadn't thought much about seeing him again here. She had hardly thought about _him_ period, at least the last few years. Never bothered to wonder what had become of him, where he was, or _who_ he was with.

That's what she told herself anyway.

The Arrivals agent was cowering away from Imelda's wrath "I'm… I'm s-s-sorry, _Señora_ …" she looked back and forth between the two. "The records said… I guess there was some mistake…"

"No. There's been no mistake." Héctor said quietly, not looking away from Imelda's angry eyes. There was sadness in his eyes. And confusion. As if he didn't understand _why_ she was so angry at him. How could he _not_ understand? He'd _left_! Left her and Coco. Left them to fend for themselves. If he thought he could waltz right back into her life ( _afterlife_ ) after doing that, then he had another thing coming.

Fleeting, she wondered how long he'd been here, but she quickly pushed that thought away. It didn't matter.

After a brief silence, he bowed his head. "I had hoped that seeing you… well, we can talk another time, maybe. I know how stressful first arriving can be…" He started to hold out his hand towards her and then seemed to think better of it. "I'll go. I'll see you later, Imelda."

"I wouldn't count on it." She snapped as he turned to go.

* * *

 _No puedo dejar que sea como mi esposo_.

I can _not_ let him be like my husband.

That was what flashed through her head as Miguel tried to claim he hadn't _stolen_ a guitar. She couldn't let another of her family follow in _his_ footsteps. Music only ever led to hurt and pain. She had to get her great-great-grandson to see reason. So she put the condition 'to never play music again' on her blessing.

Only Miguel broke his promise.

"This isn't fair! It's my life. You already had yours." He accused as he pushed passed her. When he tried to get one of the others to give the blessing without conditions, Imelda was pleased that none would defy her edicts.

"Don't make this hard, _mijo_." Imelda said evenly. "You go home my way or no way."

There was frustration and hurt in his eyes as he turned back to her. "You _really_ hate music that much?"

Imelda fought to keep from shouting, though the old anger was still strong in her voice. "I will _not_ let you go down the same path _he_ did." But instead of arguing further (something she'd never thought a member of her family would do so openly anyway), Miguel suddenly got a thoughtful look on his face. He turned away, pulling out her _foto_ from the _ofrenda_. The boy stared at it for a moment, muttering something under his breath that she didn't catch.

"Listen to your _Mamá_ Imelda." "She's just looking out for you." "Be reasonable." The others put in, crowding around. But then Miguel threw out the excuse of needing to use the restroom and was out the door with his Xolo dog before any of them could protest.

* * *

 _Él va a terminar como mi esposo._

He _will_ end up like my husband.

Imelda thought that frantically as she ran up those alley stairs after Miguel. The boy had been missing nearly half the night. It was only by chance she and Pepita had spotted him leaving the Plaza de la Cruz, red hood hiding his face (made up with _calavera_ paint) and an old guitar slung over his back. Leaving the rest behind, Imelda had taken to the air on her _alebrije_ 's back.

But Miguel had still run from her.

"I am trying to save your life!" she called after him, hiking up her skirts to make running on the uneven narrow steps easier. There was a gate ahead that she thought would stop him, but the boy was able to fit through the bars before she could reach him.

"You're _ruining_ my life!" Miguel answered back angrily.

Imelda would _not_ believe what she just heard. "What?" Clearly she had underestimated the hold that music had on her great-great-grandson.

He paused to answer. "Music's the _only_ thing that makes me happy. And you… you want to take it _away_." She could see his hands (all bones now) clench into fists. "You'll _never_ understand!"

She had to keep trying to get him to understand her! That music only led to pain. That's why, as he turned to continue up the steps, she opened her mouth and did something she hadn't done in almost a hundred years.

Sing.

* * *

 _No estoy listo para perdonar a mi esposo_.

I am not _ready_ to forgive my husband.

Those words echoed in her heart the moment Miguel told them that the reason that _he_ never came home was because he'd been murdered. At first she didn't want to believe it, but even she couldn't deny the pure honesty in _his_ voice as he confirmed it.

"It's true, Imelda." And the look in his eyes was almost shameful.

"And so _what_ if it's true?!" she retorted. "You leave me alone with a child to raise and I'm just supposed to forgive you?!" But the way he flinched at her very accurate accusation was no longer satisfying.

Héctor took a step forward. "Imelda, I…" but his words were cut off as a bright golden light washed over him. He collapsed onto hands and knees. And something inside Imelda twisted with foreboding as her breath caught in a non-existent throat. As Miguel (the _only_ one of them willing to go near him) crouched beside Héctor, the man who she had once called her husband said tiredly, "I'm running out of time. It's Coco." He added, looking back up at her.

Imelda knew what he meant. "She's Forgetting you." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. And she knew ( _knew!_ ) what that meant. She had been dead long enough to learn that, but she'd never thought about it in terms of someone she actually knew!

"You don't _have_ to forgive him." Miguel said as he helped his great-great-grandfather to his feet. The boy stayed close, keeping one of Héctor's arms over his shoulders in an attempt to support him. Almost pleading, he said, "But we shouldn't _forget_ him!"

"I _wanted_ to forget you." She forced herself to admit. The pain of his leaving, the abandonment she had thought he'd done, coming clearly in her words. It was true. She _had_ wanted to forget him. But not Forget him. As for their daughter… "I wanted _Coco_ to forget you too, but…"

Before she could explain exactly that, Héctor interrupted. "This is my fault. Not yours." And somehow that quiet tone reminded Imelda of that moment when she'd died and saw him again for the first time. When he'd told the Arrivals agent that there _hadn't_ been a mistake about him being her husband. Only there was no confusion this time. He knew why she was angry and accepted it. Accepted the anger and the blame. "I'm _sorry_ , Imelda."

* * *

 _¡Él mató a mi esposo!_

He _killed_ my husband!

Those words brought a wave of rage that joined with the old anger she'd been unfairly directing at Héctor all this time. As that _cabrón_ looked at her in confusion and wondered aloud whether or not he knew her, Imelda didn't hesitate. Her boot was off, in her hand, and across Ernesto's stupid smug face before he'd realized she'd moved.

" _That's_ for murdering the love of my life!" she declared without thinking, brandishing her boot in his face as he grabbed his skull to stop it spinning.

"Who… who the?" Clearly Ernesto was too thick to know what Imelda was talking about. Either that or he'd killed more than one person in his life.

"She's talking about me!" Héctor said proudly as he came out behind her. An instant later he was looking at her with all the adoration of a love-sick puppy. " _I'm_ the love of your life?"

" _I_ don't know. I'm still angry at you!" Imelda snapped through clenched teeth. Really! This wasn't the time to go off on tangents!

Ernesto started in surprise and then glared. "Héctor! How did you…"

Whatever he was about to say (probably questioning how Héctor was there and no longer in the _cenote_ ) was cut off as Imelda brought her boot back across his face, sending his head spinning in the opposite direction. "And _that_ is for trying to murder my grandson!"

"Grandson?!"

"She's talking about _me_!" Miguel declared as he popped out from around the corner where the others were hiding.

Ernesto's face became a mask of rage as he jabbed a finger at the boy. "You!" Then he paused and blinked in confusion. "Wait. _You're_ related to _Héctor_?"

Thankfully Miguel spotted the entire reason they were even at the Sunrise Spectacular in the first place. He pointed to the folded paper sticking out of the front pocket of Ernesto's charro jacket. "The photo!" he cried.

When faced with the entire Rivera family, Ernesto did probably the only smart thing he'd ever done. The _cabrón_ turned tail and ran. Imelda, Héctor, and Miguel were right on his heels, with the others following behind.

"You said the love of your life?" Héctor asked again as they ran. He sounded far too gleeful for Imelda's taste and he was still giving her that puppy look.

"I don't know _what_ I said!" she defended, rolling her eyes. She tried to sound angry, but it came out sounding exasperated. Really! They had more important things to concentrate on right now.

There was a soft snicker on her other side as Miguel put in his two pesos. "That's what I heard." He teased in a sing-song tone. Imelda shot her great-great-grandson an annoyed glare. Great. Now neither one was going to let that verbal slip up go. On top of it all, how did Miguel get the utter gall to sass her like that?

* * *

 _Tengo que proteger la foto de mi esposo._

I _have_ to protect the photo of my husband.

Imelda thought desperately as she spotted the group of Ernesto's bodyguards creep up the steps towards her. But the paralysis that had hit her the second she realized she was on stage in front of thousands had too strong a hold. When she finally managed to force herself to move, her body didn't want to work right and she ended up bumping into the microphone stand. Imelda grabbed it without thinking. She couldn't think! She could hardly breathe! There were too many people staring at her and those guards were coming to do God knows what…

"Sing." She heard Miguel call as loudly as he dared to her left. "Sing!"

He wanted her to do what? Imelda stared in incomprehension at him and Héctor standing just off-stage. How could he expect her to do that? There was no way! But nothing else came to mind when Imelda tried to think of an alternative. So Imelda took a deep breath and closed her eyes. And sang.

" _ **Ay, de mi Llorona**_ " As the words flowed out, her voice filled the silent stadium. She tried to pretend that she was back in that alley. That no one was watching her except a single member of her family. " _ **Llorona de azul celeste.**_ "

The sound of a single guitar taking up the song startled her. She opened her eyes and tried to look around for where it was coming from. " _ **Ay, de mi Llorona**_ " But as she did so, Imelda saw the guards still coming for her. So she took the microphone from its stand and headed for the opposite side from the ones the guards were on. " _ **Llorona de azul celeste. Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona**_ " Holding the microphone in one hand, Imelda lifted the hem of her dress with the hand holding the photo as she started down the stairs.

" _ **No dejaré de quererte**_ " Imelda looked to where she'd seen her family hiding. They were still there, Victoria and Rosita staring with mouths agape in astonishment. Miguel was grinning and her husband… Héctor was the one playing the guitar and giving her an encouraging nod…

Suddenly it was like they were young again. Young and in love. Like the first time he'd encouraged her to sing with him in the plaza. Imelda had always had too much stage-fright to perform on her own but that day, just like now, his playing gave her courage. All at once nothing else mattered except her song, his music, and the performance of a lifetime.

And as her voice strengthened on the next line, Héctor's guitar was joined by the entire orchestra in a swell of music.

" _ **No dejaré de quererte!**_ "

* * *

 _No puedo salvar a mi esposo_

I can't _save_ my husband.

As Miguel disappeared in a swirl of _cempasúchil_ petals, the relief Imelda felt that they had accomplished _that_ task was quickly replaced by that helpless thought. The light that washed over his bones seemed to sap the strength from Héctor. He hadn't even been strong enough to lift the petal for the blessing. She'd had to help him, holding his hand in both of hers. That weakness had frightened Imelda, though she'd never admit it. She wasn't used to seeing that sort of thing in her husband. Héctor had always been full of life, even here, that it had been easy to forget that he was being Forgotten.

And no matter what he said, Imelda knew she was responsible.

And there was nothing she could do to fix her mistake.

"Héctor… I'm… I'm so…" she started to say, still holding his hand.

"Don't, _mi amor_ …" he interrupted, his voice barely over a whisper. "Wasn't your fault. Never blamed you." He closed his eyes for a moment and then cracked them open again. Somehow the black shadows that every skeleton in the Land of the Dead had around their eyes looked more like the dark circles that a Living person got after one or more sleepless nights. The light kept coming in bright flashes, though it seemed that Héctor was too exhausted for his body to spasm.

The rest of the family kept a respectful distance. As if they were afraid to come too close. Imelda realized that up until she had flung herself into his arms after her on-stage performance, only _Miguel_ had been willing to touch Héctor. Even she had spurned him at every turn. No one wanted to be reminded that _they_ could end up Forgotten any more than the Living liked being reminded they could die. And yet Imelda could remember how comforted she`d been knowing her family was with her as she died. The feeling of Coco holding her hand as she slipped away.

Héctor never had that. He'd died far from home with no family and only the (possible) company of his murderer. Somehow she doubted that Ernesto had offered any comfort to his dying friend. God knew _she'd_ given him no comfort when they were finally reunited.

Well, not this time!

As gently as she could, Imelda shifted Héctor so that his head rested on her lap without relinquishing his hand. His bones felt unnaturally light, more so than seemed possible. He looked up at her questioningly for a moment, but gave a faint smile. Another flash of light, one that lasted twice as long as the ones before. And Imelda knew, just as Héctor did, that the Final Death was closing in.

"Im… Imelda… A favour, _por favor_ …" he murmured as he tried to squeeze her hand. It was little more than a twitch of the fingers.

"Anything." She answered instantly.

He relaxed a little. "Coco… when she gets here… tell her… would you tell her…"

Imelda fought to keep her words from clogging a non-existent throat. "Everything. I'll tell her everything, Héctor. What really happened to you. That you tried to come home…" she paused and swallowed hard. "That you loved her." She held no illusions that he felt the same love for her, despite calling her by his usual pet name of ' _mi amor_ '. How could he after what she'd done to him? But his next words surprised her.

Héctor smiled again as his eyes fell shut. " _Gracias_ … should know… still love you too, Imelda… Always have… always will…" his voice thinned down to a thread that was nearly inaudible. "My wife…"

A strangled sob escaped her. For ninety-six years she'd denied his existence, his memory, and yet he still called her his wife. "And I you, Héctor. Now and forever." She whispered, closing her eyes against the brightness. It hurt. It hurt so much that only now at the end of it all did she know the truth of what happened to him. That they wouldn't have the chance to fix their broken relationship. That once again he was leaving her, though this time it wasn't by his choice. She held him close as the light along his bones became a steady glow. "You _are_ my husband…"

Imelda fully expected him to vanish into dust in the next second. That as the sun cleared the distant horizon, Héctor's bones would crumble in her hands. She couldn't bear to see it so Imelda kept her eyes closed as she continued to hold him.

What she did _not_ expect was the hand that came up to cup the side of her face. Imelda's eyes flew open and she looked down to see Héctor, no longer glowing, looking back at her.

"I'd given up hope of ever hearing you call me that." Héctor said softly. Then that all too familiar twinkle of mischief entered his eyes. "Guess that means I'm the love of your afterlife as well as your live, eh Imelda?"

There was a rush of phantom heat to Imelda's face. She stared at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a fish. That was until he smirked at her with what he had called his smoldering look. It was an expression she'd always wanted to smack off of him in life and she found that seeing it in death was no different. "You… you… _IDIOTA_!"

And as Imelda began to threaten him with her boot and Héctor ducked away snickering, the rest of the family was probably left to wonder if they should intervene or not.

* * *

 _Te amo, mi esposo_

I love you, my husband.

"…though some days I wonder why." Imelda finished the thought under her breath, one part affectionately, one part amused, and one part exasperated. It was _Día de Muertos_ again. She was standing just outside the Departures gate, having sent the others on ahead, waiting for her husband and daughter to come through.

Coco had arrived in the Land of the Dead six months ago. And she brought with her not only the news of the birth of Miguel's little sister and of music being allowed back in the family, but that she'd saved the part of the family _foto_ with Héctor's face. Now he would be able to finally cross the bridge to visit the Living. Héctor had been nearly insufferable in his joy upon learning that.

Yet as the date grew closer, his old anxiety had come back with a vengeance.

Imelda could understand it in a way. So much had changed in the last year for him. It had to be hard to believe that after all this time even _this_ has as well. Oh, he tried to hide it, but the entire family was aware of that old fear. About a week or so before, Héctor had started coming up with flimsy excuses to not even try to cross. They'd had to nearly frog-march him to the Santa Cecilia Departure Station. Then, once in the lines, he'd somehow vanished. How one could lose someone in a _line_ , Imelda just couldn't understand. Coco had insisted on being the one to go find her _papá_ and was off like a shot before Imelda could stop her.

So she was left waiting for both to come through.

As she checked the row of scanners for what seemed like the thousandth time, Imelda finally caught sight of Héctor again. He had his hat in his hands and was fidgeting with it nervously as one of the agents called him forward. The woman gave him a long knowing look to which he gave a hesitant grin. The pause as the scanner read his markings and searched for a _foto_ on an _ofrenda_ seemed to take forever. Imelda found herself holding her breath just as she knew Héctor was.

Finally there was a ding and the light above the agent's screen flashed green.

"Enjoy your visit, Héctor." The agent said with more than the usual customer service warmth. She waved a hand towards the exit.

Imelda echoed his sigh of relief. Not that she ever doubted that their great-great-grandson would forget about the photo. She had passed through after all and her _foto_ was a family photo. And Coco _had_ said they'd fixed it. Which meant it was Héctor's _foto_ as well now.

As he came out, putting his still ragged hat on his head (she hadn't been able to convince him to give it up), Imelda came up and put her arm around his waist. Héctor reached out for her at the same time and they shared a kiss. The ease of it was a relief just from all the years apart.

" _Papá_!" Coco called as she came out behind them.

Héctor turned to their daughter with a chuckle. "Coco!" he said and covered her face with kisses. Imelda couldn't help but smile. Seeing the two's joy at being together again would probably always bring warmth to her absent heart. Imelda also would always feel the tinge of guilt at nearly preventing the reunion from ever happening.

But she refused to let that have a hold on her.

And for the first time ever she walked across the bridge to the Land of the Living hand in hand with her entire _familia_.


	9. Shred of Proof 3

**Title:** Shred of Proof 3

 **Rating:** K+

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** Whelp. Time for another instalment of _Shred of Proof_. Hope you all like this one. I must also note that I had originally planned for this chapter to go a certain way. But after doing some research, I realized I needed to change the order of several things to fit in with proper traditions.

 **Reviews:** _ainmals1_ – That's what I was hoping for. _KingRiordanQueenRowling_ – Thank you! _Agent Numbah 227_ \- You –ay have given me an idea there. _Teddi 8347_ – I know what you mean. I get ideas all the time but sometimes have a hard time putting them into words. _Mysteryfan17_ – Thanks for the reviews! As for the _da nada/de nada_ thing… I blame my complete idiocy of the Spanish language. I had seen _da nada_ used in fics and didn't think about the difference between the Spanish phrase and the Portuguese one. I even watched the movie again with subtitles just to see if it was the way you said. I've fixed it now. _Cthonis Princess_ – Thank you! You'll just have to see.

* * *

 _I wish we were coming for a better reason_. André Ramirez thought to himself as Detective Marco Garcia maneuvered his personal car through the light traffic going into Santa Cecilia. The two had left México City very early that morning, taking the driving in turns, and now it was just about late afternoon. The drive hadn't been too bad for the start of May. Hot, of course, but they had left early enough to avoid the traffic around the city.

They had thought to make this trip much earlier. Serrano had proved to be just as André had predicted. The moment he learned of André's involvement in Marco's inquiry of one of his mummy specimens, Serrano put the brakes on. He absolutely refused to let them even see the body without a warrant. They learned through the student Alejandra Herdez that it hadn't taken long for Serrano to figure out _who_ they believed the body to be. The young woman was also able to warn them that Serrano, like she had predicted, was making quiet inquiries to various collectors and museums that might be interested in obtaining the remains of the songwriter Héctor Rivera. Thankfully all had wanted definitive proof (which meant a DNA test) which Serrano couldn't provide.

André had warned the Riveras of the situation. So Serrano had been road-blocked in turn when _he'd_ tried to approach them. In short, the Riveras would only agree to the DNA test if (the test proving positive) Serrano agreed to return Héctor's remains to them to be buried next to his wife in Santa Cecilia. Serrano had balked at that, claiming that he had invested a great deal of time and money into his collection and this specimen in particular. It was apparent he wanted compensation and if he had his way, it would be at a price the Riveras couldn't afford.

So they, through André and Marco, were working through the court system to get access to Serrano's collection. Meanwhile, the media caught wind of what was going on. If Serrano thought he was going to get sympathy from that quarter, he was vastly wrong. The media storm was painting him as the villain selfishly keeping Héctor Rivera from returning home.

Then the news came from Santa Cecilia. Héctor Rivera's daughter, Coco, had passed away in her sleep at age 100.

One would think that, since she and the rest of the family had lived in some obscurity up until this year, the news of her death wouldn't make national news. But it had. André couldn't help feeling a little guilty over bringing notoriety to the family. Thankfully, when the media descended on Santa Cecilia, the rest of the town stepped up to keep the vultures away from the Riveras while they grieved.

"Should we head to the hotel first?" Marco asked, breaking the silence. "That way we can dump our bags."

André made a noise of agreement, but continued to stare out the side window at the landscape going by without really seeing it. If he'd been paying more attention to his companion, André would have heard the soft 'tsk' as Marco clicked his tongue. The next thing he knew was the sting of Marco's fingers as the other man flicked the back of his head. André turned his head to glare at him.

Marco didn't even look away from the road. "Stop that. It's not your fault, you know. The courts move at their own pace with no regard for mere mortals like us."

He knew his friend was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "In this case they should have. I would've liked to have been able to tell Miguel's _Mamá_ Coco what happened to her father and that he could be brought home. The woman deserved that instead of dying without knowing for sure." He folded his arms, but realized he was acting like a petulant child in a sulk. He sighed. "It isn't fair, but when is life ever fair?"

Now it was Marco's turn to hum agreement. "Look on the bright side, _amigo_. Miguel seems to be mostly the driving force behind our investigation. At the very least we should be able to tell _him_ what happened to his great-great-grandfather before _he_ dies." He made a face as he signalled and changed lanes. "That came out more depressing than I intended."

André knew what Marco had really meant and had to agree. They weren't going to give up the fight against Serrano just yet. Coco Rivera was dead, but the rest of the family still needed closure. Miguel needed it. He needed… André paused his thoughts because he remembered something from when he first met the boy. Miguel hadn't really asked to _know_ what happened to his great-great-grandfather, just the _proof_ of it.

" _Before Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him and stole his songs."_

" _I apologize, Señor Ramirez. I know I shouldn't have said that. I can't prove it. I can't_ prove _it at all."_

Proof. When Miguel had first made the accusation, there _had_ been something there in the boy's attitude. André still couldn't shake the feeling that Miguel _knew_ (or at least had a theory) what happened to Héctor. When Marco had explained to the family the findings of the autopsy report, Miguel had been the only one not surprised by the possible cause of death being poison. Of course even _that_ couldn't be proved without access to the body.

Though how he expected to connect Ernesto de la Cruz to the crime, André couldn't fathom. It's not like they could go back in time.

Reaching the hotel, the two men checked in. The funeral was to be the following day so the rest of the day was their own. By common consent, they decided they wouldn't intrude on the Riveras just yet. Instead André spent some time marking some of the latest papers from his classes while Marco flipped through the channels on the TV. They took dinner at André's cousin's home. Juan and Guadalupe bombarded Marco with questions about being a police officer in a big city. They didn't question André partly because he was family and familiar, but also partly because being a university professor wasn't nearly as exciting as a cop.

The next day they headed for the home of the Rivera clan. André in his best suit jacket and tie, Marco in his dress uniform. Santa Cecilia was small enough that they left the car at the hotel and walked the short distance to the Rivera home. There were a couple of reporters lurking in the plaza as they passed through. One looked like he was going to approach them, but glares from both made him think otherwise. Neither man was in the mood for intrusive interviews.

The gate into the family's courtyard was open, though the door of the _zapatería_ was closed. The wake was being held in the family home as was typical for a small town. There was to be a service at the church a little later that day, followed by a final one in the cemetery. Tables had been set up in the courtyard to hold the food that friends and neighbours had brought. Looking around, André spotted a few members of the family talking with visitors, including Roberto Rivera and his wife, Miguel's uncle and aunt. He also saw Miguel's parents come out of (what he learned on his previous visit was) the _ofrenda_ room. He looked at Marco and jerked his head towards the couple.

" _Señor_ Ramirez. It's good of you to come." Enrique said when he saw the two coming towards them.

" _Gracias_ for having us, _Señor_ Rivera." André replied then gestured to Marco. "This is Detective Garcia."

Marco held out his hand. "We've spoken on the phone. My condolences to your family, _Señor y Señora_."

As the three shook hands, Luisa shifted her infant daughter onto her hip and said, " _Gracias_ Detective. And _gracias_ for the work you both have done for Miguel. Is there any news on the court order?"

"I'm afraid not, _Señora_." Marco replied. "It's still moving through the system. As soon as I get word, I would let Miguel and all of you know of course."

"Speaking of him, how is Miguel doing?" André asked. "I know he and his great-grandmother were close."

Enrique gave a sigh but nodded. "Surprisingly well. We worried about him because, as you said, he and _Mamá_ Coco were so close. Especially these last few months." The man looked over his shoulder into the _ofrenda_ room. "But he's taken her passing rather well. You can see for yourself."

Inside the _ofrenda_ room, Socorro Rivera's casket was surrounded by flowers, candles, and the photographs of family that had passed before her. A priest from the church was there to oversee the wake. Miguel and a few of his cousins were sitting with Elena Rivera. Her husband Franco stood with the priest, speaking quietly.

The children and their grandmother were apparently reminiscing about _Mamá_ Coco.

"… and so she brought your _Papá_ Julio home to meet _Mamá_ Imelda. Since he agreed to learn to make shoes as well, she allowed him and _Mamá_ to get married." Elena was saying.

"And all because they met because she was dancing in the plaza?" the girl, Rosa, asked. Seated on the floor, she had one of the young twins on her lap.

A slight frown flickered across Elena's face for a second, but she still smiled and nodded. " _Sí_ , though for a long time, that wasn't part of the story."

Before she could continue further, Miguel spoke up. "But we need to remember it. It's part of _Mamá_ Coco's story, the story of our family. We have to pass on the entire story, even the parts we don't like so that our family is properly remembered." He glanced towards the casket and the _fotos_ on the _ofrenda_. "Our family counts on us to remember them."

"Like ta song?" The twin on Miguel's lap said. The other, on Rosa's lap, added, "Sing ta song, _primo_."

Miguel hesitated, but looked up at his grandmother in surprise when she said warmly, "Go ahead, Miguelito. _Mamá_ did like hearing it."

The twins clapped as the boy got up. He picked up Héctor Rivera's white guitar from where it had been placed near the _ofrenda_. He looked at the casket again, then at Elena before taking a deep breath and began to play. " **Remember me, though I have to say goodbye…** "

As Miguel played, André moved further into the room, followed by those outside. It was the first time he'd ever heard Miguel play. It was fascinating. André knew the song, of course. _Remember Me_ was Ernesto de la Cruz's most famous song. Everyone in México knew it. But the way Miguel played it changed the song completely.

In all the recordings of de la Cruz's version, the focus on the song was on the singer. It was all about him. A loud and boisterous celebration of him and Ernesto de la Cruz preformed it in a way that demanded you paid attention only to him.

This version, however, was the opposite. Miguel played the song softly and gently, like a lullaby. The focus wasn't really on the singer, but on the one the song was being sung to. And now knowing it was actually written by Héctor for his daughter, André could easily picture the young _músico_ playing it only for her. And he understood what Miguel had meant when he'd said that his great-great-grandfather's songs hadn't been written for the world.

Others of his family joined Miguel in singing the song. Even Elena, though she only mouthed the words. But the last line was only in Miguel's voice. " **…Remember me…** "

" _Ay, dios mio_. I'll never look at that song the same way again." Marco murmured under his breath to André.

André hummed agreement. "I would also like to know how he knew it was supposed to be played like that."

"You aren't the only ones." Luisa said softly, joining their conversation. "Carmen and I grew up with music, before we married our husbands and gave it up. So we knew how that song had always been played. But when Miguel first played it for _Mamá_ Coco after last _Día de los Muertos_ , I hardly recognized it."

"He must have learned it from his great-grandmother." Marco said, coming to the same conclusion André had. That had to be the answer. After all there were no recordings of Héctor's version and the letters only contained the words to the songs, not the actual music notes.

But to both men's surprise, Luisa shook her head. "I don't think so. _Mamá_ Coco hardly ever spoke at all before then, so faded was her memory. She didn't recognize most of the family and with the music ban, there wouldn't have been a chance for her to teach Miguel about the song. Her memory was better after that morning, but how he knew that was how it was supposed to be in the first place…" she shrugged and shifted baby Coco in her arms again.

André would have liked to ask more but it was at about that point that the wake moved from the family home to the church for the funeral service. The little church was packed. Pretty much everyone in Santa Cecilia was there. Even a couple of the reporters managed to sneak in, though they kept to the back and kept quiet. Neither André nor Marco were particularly religious men, so much of the prayers and hymns were meaningless to them.

The procession to the cemetery and the final grave-side service was equally well attended. Near the end, as the family was throwing handfuls of dirt into the grave, André noticed Marco give a little start and dig into his pocket. The other man pulled out his cellphone (which he had respectfully put on vibrate) and looked at the screen. André frowned a little but Marco's eyes widened.

"The chief." He whispered _sotto voce_. Marco nodded to the exit of the cemetery. "I've got to take this."

He slipped out of the crowd and away before answering the call. André hoped it didn't mean Marco would have to head back immediately, but that was likely the case. Marco's chief knew where they were and he wouldn't call if it wasn't important. And Important also usually meant Emergency.

So André would have to get back to México City on his own.

As the ceremony ended and the crowd slowly dispersed, André found himself standing with Miguel at the graveside. The rest of the family was already heading back to the house. After a moment Miguel said, " _Hola, Señor_ Ramirez."

" _Hola_ , Miguel. I'm sorry about your great-grandmother. And I'm sorry we weren't able to bring more closure before this."

The boy nodded with a solemn expression. "It's okay, _Señor_. You and Detective Garcia have done more than we thought. Besides, I know _Mamá_ Coco is happy in the Land of the Dead. She's with her _mamá y papá_ again and they've waited a long time to be together again. And it's not like she won't get the full story from them." There was a brief flash of mischief along with that wiser-than-his-years look.

The mischief made André chuckle briefly. "You are surprising philosophical, Miguel. How you manage to be so wise so young, I'll never know."

"I don't know about wise." Miguel answered, his dimple flashing briefly. "I've done some pretty dumb things."

"Miguel, I know adults who won't admit they've done something dumb if their lives depended on it." André said as they turned to leave the cemetery. "I was talking with your _mamá_ earlier about the song you played. I am absolutely amazed how you've managed to change it. I could almost believe that it was the way your great-great-grandfather intended it."

A pleased but secretive look crossed Miguel's face. "It was. _Papá_ Héctor did write it that way for _Mamá_ Coco. It was their secret song. And I'll only ever play it for family."

"Then I am honoured to have had the chance to hear it." André replied. He was only a little surprised by what Miguel said. After hearing Miguel's version of _Remember Me_ and remembering how he had said that the songs weren't for the world, André had to agree with his decision. Still he had to ask, "Where did you learn to play it like that though?"

"Uh… well…" he fumbled a little, clutching his wrist pensively. "It's kinda hard to explain, _Señor_. You'd probably think it was just a dream, but…" He broke off as both of them noticed Marco hurrying up the path towards them. The detective had a wide grin that nearly spit his face. He didn't even wait for them to ask any questions.

"I just got the _best_ news." He called out, waving his cellphone. "We got it! We got the court-order."


	10. Find and Seek

**Title:** Find and Seek

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This one is an idea that _Teddi8347_ gave me so this chapter is for you.

 **Reviews:** _KentuckyWallfower_ – Thank you! _Agent Numbah 227_ – I did make Serrano a bit of a jerk. I couldn't make it easy after all. _Pamela1967_ – Glad you like it! _Ainmals1_ – No worries. As nice as it is, I don't get disappointed when people don't reviews each chapter! _Storyteller362_ – Thanks! _Chance-Will_ – Be careful pulling all-nighters, though I've done it too. _Digifan313_ – It may be easy for us to believe but this is a 13 year-old boy trying to explain to a university professor without having the adult think he's crazy. _Vi-Violence_ – Aww, thank you! _Jojospn_ – Glad I could suck you into the fandom _Iheart2manyfandoms_ – Thanks!

* * *

The first time Victoria ever heard about him was when she was six years old. Before that she never thought about the fact she had two _abuelas_ but only one _abuelo_. She didn't see much of _Papá_ José and _Mamá_ Gloria anymore since they had left for America during the war. _Papá_ still got letters from them though. That was also when _Tía_ Rosita came to live with them and work in the shoe shop with _Abuelita_ and _Papá_.

It was after her first week of school. Victoria had been sorting through some laces and pairing them to be threaded into new shoes. And she had been doing something she learned from her teacher. It was a new thing to her. She was humming.

Of course her teacher should have known better than to teach a Rivera anything about music. But the woman was new to Santa Cecilia and hadn't yet had an encounter with the Rivera Music Ban. Unfortunately she was about to.

"Victoria. What are you doing?" _Abuelita_ suddenly demanded, her voice sharp. It was a similar tone to what she used on _Tíos_ Óscar and Felipe (when they were experimenting on new shoe designs), but much darker.

Victoria turned, seeing her grandmother looking at her with hands on hips and eyes narrowed. She gulped because _Abuelita_ was scary when she looked like that. Still the little girl answered quietly, "It's something that _Maestra_ Flores was teaching us."

 _Abuelita_ narrowed her eyes further. The workshop fell silent (even her two-year-old sister, Elena, stopped her babbling) and Victoria, not used to earning her grandmother's ire, ducked her head and clutched one wrist anxiously. Looking up through her lashed, Victoria saw her grandmother give an angry huff and mutter "I'm going to have a word with that woman." Then she said a little louder to Victoria, "Don't do that again. There is _no_ music in this house, Victoria. _Ever_. Understood?"

" _Sí, Abuelita_." Victoria answered promptly. She watched as her grandmother gave a sharp nod and headed for the door, telling _Papá_ and the _Tíos_ that she would be right back. Victoria bowed her head again, not sure if she was still in trouble. A moment later she felt a gentle hand on her head. She looked up to see _Mamá_ giving her a small smile.

"It's all right, _mija_." She said, adjusting her hold on Elena. "Music is just a bit of a sore spot for your _abuelita._ "

Victoria couldn't help but ask a child's favourite question. "Why, _Mamá_?"

 _Mamá_ sighed, looking sad for a moment. "It happened a long time ago, long before you were born, back when I was a little girl. I had a _papá_ like you do." Victoria glanced at her father for a moment and then looked back at _Mamá_. Her mother chuckled. "He wasn't exactly like your _papá_. He was a musician. He used to play such beautiful songs."

Victoria noticed how her mother's expression seemed wistful. Like she was remembering some happy memory. "What happened to him?"

"Well, he had a dream. To play for the world. And one day he left with his guitar. And never returned."

"He abandoned his family." _Tío_ Felipe put in as he brushed a boot. Sitting next to him, hammering on a sole, _Tío_ Óscar added, "Your _Mamá_ Imelda had to raise Coco by herself."

"So she rolled up her sleeves and learned to make shoes."

"Then she taught us and your _mamá_ to make shoes."

"And your _papá_ and _tía_."

"So you see, _mija_ ," _Papá_ said after the _Tíos_ , "music tore the family apart. But shoes! They have held us together."

Victoria nodded in understanding, though she also could see _Mamá_ 's face had gone sad again. She wondered about that for a moment, but not for long. She was only six after all.

* * *

She was fourteen when she discovered the letters.

It was completely by accident. Victoria was just tidying up around the house one morning. Usually she stayed out of her parents' room, but she had a basket of laundry to put away. After putting the clothing away, she started to clear a few things off her mother's bedside table. As she opened the drawer to the table, she saw a small notebook with red binding that was stuffed with papers. Victoria didn't think much of it, just picked it up to fit some of the other things in the drawer. But when she did so, a small scrap of paper came loose and fell to the floor. Victoria picked it up.

It was part of a photograph.

It was very old and contained only the face of a man Victoria didn't recognize. He wasn't exactly handsome with that big nose, but she could see a certain charm in his easy smile and kindness in his eyes. Victoria looked at it for a moment, wondering who the man was and why _Mamá_ had kept this piece.

Then she realized with a gasp. This scrap of photo was part of the family photo of _Abuelita_ and _Mamá_ from when her mother was a little girl. The one that showed the figure of a man, but no face as it had been torn away. That meant that this was the face of her mother's _papá_ , Victoria's grandfather. The man that had torn their family apart because of music

Victoria found herself sitting on the edge of her parents' bed, holding the scrap of photo as far away as she could. She couldn't believe that her mother would hang onto this. For what reason would she do that? Quickly she opened the notebook, intending to stuff the scrap back inside and forget she had ever seen it, but the papers inside the notebook made her pause. There was about a dozen or so, folded neatly but with worn edges. Victoria looked at them for a moment before her curiosity got the better of her. She set down the scrap, took out the first paper and carefully opened it.

It was a letter.

 _My dearest Coco,_

 _I know I wrote just a few days ago, but it had still been too long since I told you how much I love you. And yes,_ mija _, I know it's_ Mamá _telling you that, but it is still my words she's reading to you. It still counts._

 _I have missed you and_ Mamá _so much. I can't wait to see you both again._ Tío _Nesto says we have a few more performances to do, so it shouldn't be too much longer, I promise._

 _In the meantime, I've written down our special song. The one I wrote just for you. I wish I was there to sing it with you in person, but know that no matter how far apart we are, we are still singing it together._

 _ **Remember me**_

 _ **Though I have to say goodbye**_

 _ **Remember me**_

 _ **Don't let it make you cry**_

 _ **For even if I'm far away**_

 _ **I hold you in my heart**_

 _ **I sing a secret song to you**_

 _ **Each night we are apart**_

 _ **Remember me**_

 _ **Though I have to travel far**_

 _ **Remember me**_

 _ **Each time you hear a sad guitar**_

 _ **Know That I'm with you**_

 _ **The only way that I can be**_

 _ **Until you're in my arms again**_

 _ **Remember me**_

Te amo, mija. Te amo.

 _Love,_ Papá.

Reading the carefully written words, Victoria wasn't sure what to think. All her life she had only known about how her grandfather had abandoned his family without a backward glance. That was the story she had been told time and time again. But this letter and all the others stored so carefully in the notebook suggested something else. That he _had_ loved _Abuelita_ and _Mamá_. That even though he had left, he intended to come home.

Yet she also knew that he never did.

So why _hadn't_ he?

Before she could think further, _Tía_ Rosita called from the stairs. "Victoria, have you finished with the basket yet?"

Victoria jumped and quickly stuffed everything back into the notebook and shoved it back into the bedside table. " _Sí_. I'm coming, _Tía_." She grabbed the empty basket from the floor and hurried downstairs. Thankfully her aunt didn't say anything about how long Victoria had taken as Victoria handed over the basket.

She tried not to, but thoughts about those letters kept intruding throughout the rest of the day. She wanted to ask about them. _Mamá_ would be the obvious choice except that Victoria wasn't sure how to broach the subject. Not in front of the rest of the family. Anything that had even the slightest relation to the subject of _that musician_ just made _Abuelita_ angry. And it wasn't just _Abuelita_ either. While only ten, Elena was following right in _Abuelita_ 's footsteps. More than once her sister had charged out of the house, sandal in hand, to scare off anyone singing outside. Victoria, on the other hand, preferred to just ignore any singing or music.

At least the mistake that her teacher had made when Victoria was little hadn't happened a second time when Elena started school.

It was late before she felt she could attempt to talk to her mother about the letters without anyone else in the family hearing. _Mamá_ had stepped out into the courtyard after sending Elena to bed. It was something Victoria had noticed she did every night it didn't rain. And she had always done it by herself.

Victoria followed her this time though. And to her surprise, she found her mother humming very softly to herself. Victoria kept to the shadows as she listened. Of course she didn't recognize the song. That was until _Mamá_ started to sing just as quietly.

"… **Know that I'm with you The only way that I can be Until you're in my arms again Remember me…** " _Mamá_ looked up at the moon rising above the roof of the workshop and gave a soft sigh. "Oh, _Papá_ …"

Wondering if she should make her presence known or go back inside, Victoria hesitated. She felt like she was intruding on a very private moment for her mother. One that she went out of her way to have despite the music ban. And yet, this might be the only time Victoria could even ask about the letters. But just as she was about to step out of the shadows, someone else did.

" _Novia_ , why do you keep doing this?" _Papá_ asked as he stepped out of the house. He also kept his voice low as to not attract attention from the rest of the household. "You know how _Mamá_ Imelda feels about this."

 _Mamá_ got a stubborn look on her face, something Victoria wasn't used to seeing. Her mother rarely ever showed that typical Rivera trait. "I don't care. This is _my_ song. Mine and _Papá_ 's. And I won't give it up."

As _Mamá_ pulled the shawl she wore against the night chill tighter, _Papá_ came over and rubbed her arms, His expression was gently and sympathetic. "He's _not_ coming back, Coco."

"You don't know that." _Mamá_ replied. "We don't know anything because _Mamá_ never went to find out. Something happened to him. Something that's keeping him from coming home. I just know it. _Papá_ loves us and he wouldn't just abandon us for no reason."

"But still," her father countered, "If something did happened, why were you and _Mamá_ Imelda never told? Surely the _policía_ would have contacted your _mamá_ if something had happened to him."

 _Mamá_ gave a heavy sigh. "I suppose so, unless… they didn't know who he was." She sounded a little desperate. Clinging to hope. "He could have been hurt and lost his memory or… or something."

Hearing that desperation in her mother's voice awoke something in Victoria. Her mother still held out hope beyond hope that her father would return, even after all these years. It was crazy and Victoria didn't like to think of _Mamá_ as crazy. But what could she do about it?

 _I could try to find out what happened._

The thought was startling. As startling as finding the letters and piece of photo in the first place. Victoria wasn't sure how to react to it. Her first thought was to dismiss it. Finding out information on the whereabouts of her grandfather wasn't her concern. He wasn't part of her life, not really. Ad if he hadn't come back in all these years, surely that meant _Abuelita_ was right and he _had_ abandoned the family. Yet she could also see how _Mamá_ was right as well. _Something_ could have happened. And accident or illness…

Or death.

She tried to shy away from _that_ thought, but really, it made some sense. Even though she had grown up disliking the man for leaving, Victoria wasn't comfortable with the idea that a member of her family had died unknown far from home. And yet it loomed as a possible answer. In fact, in many of the mystery novels she had read over the years, someone dying was the usual explanation for an unexpected disappearance. Well, in those books, the usual cause of death was murder, of course. Still…

Whatever the reason, surely if Victoria found out what made her grandfather keep from coming home; it would give some closure to _Mamá_ and put an end on that chapter in the family history.

* * *

Victoria quickly learned that deciding to find out what happened to her grandfather was one thing. It was a whole other matter to actually find anything.

For starters, she had to find out what her grandfather's name was. Obviously she couldn't ask her family without explaining why she wanted to know. And asking anyone outside the family would just end with similar results as it would get back to the family eventually. And all the letters she had found in _Mamá_ 's notebook were all signed "Love, _Papá_ ", so they were of no help either.

Luckily, after that ill-intended music lesson back when Victoria started school, her teachers found it much easier to just send Victoria off to the library whenever music was going to be a part of the lesson. As a consequence she was very well-known to not only the school librarian, but to the two women who ran the Santa Cecilia Public Library and Archives. So well-know that they didn't question her looking at the old records.

It didn't take long to find _Mamá_ 's baptism record as well as her grandparents' marriage record. So she learned her grandfather was named Héctor. And she thought she might have figured out who " _Tío_ Nesto" was as well. She had thought he was a relative of her grandfather's, another musician like him. She was partly right. He was a musician, in fact, the most famous musician of all of México, Ernesto de la Cruz. Even not knowing anything about music, Victoria knew of him. She wouldn't have guessed he had anything to do with her family except that he was listed as a witness on both the marriage and baptism records.

At first that seemed like a lead on finding out what happened to her grandfather. But then she remembered that he had died a few years after she had been born. His statue lorded over the plaza and his crypt the center of the cemetery.

Victoria's next task was to figure out when Héctor left Santa Cecilia and where he went. That took much longer. Almost two years of combing through old records from the train station. Victoria couldn't devote a lot of time to her search, no more than a few hours one day a week, without arousing the suspicion of _Abuelita_. The rest of the time she had not only school, but working in the shop and crafting shoes alongside her family. Finally though, she found a record of a Rivera, H. purchasing a ticket from Santa Cecilia to Cuidad Valles in the summer of 1921.

She didn't know if she should be surprised or not to learn that Ernesto de la Cruz also bought the same ticket.

What happened after that was much harder to learn. With the librarians' help (using a school paper as an excuse), Victoria got in touch with an archivist in Cuidad Valles. When she explained on the phone to the man that she was looking for information about someone from Santa Cecilia being there, he assumed that she was interested in Ernesto de la Cruz. This assumption would keep cropping up throughout later inquires. Victoria explained that, no, she was looking for someone named Héctor Rivera instead. She did include that he had travelled there at the same time as the famous _músico_. Eventually, after a few weeks, the archivist found that (again) a Rivera, H. and a de la Cruz, E. both bought tickets a week or so after arriving heading to Tamazunchale. And he put her in contact with someone there who could help. And so it went for the next several towns.

Victoria started keeping a journal. To keep track of everything she had discovered. She asked for and got photocopies of anything that was found, having them mailed to the library for her to pick up there. And she also got a map of México to trace her grandfather's route. She noticed a pattern very quickly. The two men (she had come to the conclusion that they had to be travelling together) were headed towards México City, stopping at several towns but only staying about a week or two at a time before moving on.

There wasn't much for Victoria to do while she waited for her various inquiries, so she took to reading any old newspapers from the time that were available on microfilm. She didn't know what she might find or even if she would find anything. But that didn't deter her either.

Life went on in the Rivera household. Victoria finished school and worked more and more in the shop, becoming an expert at crafting _huaraches_. The business picked up. A few young men came by, trying to court her, but were either sent packing by _Mamá_ Imelda or by Victoria's own disinterest. Quite frankly, between working in the shop and her secret search, Victoria didn't have time to spend on men.

Just after Victoria turned 20, and she had tracked her grandfather to Texcoco de Mora, disaster struck the family. Her twin _tíos_ were killed in a terrible crash on the way back from delivering shoes to customers in a neighbouring town. Their deaths hit all the family hard, but especially Victoria's mother and grandmother. It didn't help that three years later, _Tía_ Rosita would die suddenly of a heart attack. Victoria put aside her search for a time after each death, both too grief-stricken and then too busy with taking up the extra work in the _zapatería_. It took a while for her to take it up again. The final blow though happened another two years after that.

Imelda Rivera, matriarch of the family, fell victim to a stroke.

The day it happened, Victoria had come across an odd article in the old newspapers. It was almost buried in the issue she was reading. It was about the discovery of the body of an unknown man in Texcoco de Mora that the police of the time were trying to identify. The article included an artist drawing of the man that looked remarkably similar to the photo scrap Victoria had found in her mother's notebook. She already knew that her grandfather had been in that town and had even bought a train ticket for Santa Cecilia from there. That had confused Victoria because she _knew_ he had never returned home. She also knew that Ernesto de la Cruz had travelled on to México City shorty after Héctor had bought his ticket home. The date of the paper from the day after de la Cruz had left and four days after her grandfather was supposed to have returned to Santa Cecilia.

The article had also gone on to say that the police suspected the man's death was not natural and the early autopsy results, while not fully analyzed, were already indicating poison.

Victoria was stunned to say the least. Yes, she had come to suspect that her grandfather was dead, but she never expected that he had died only a few months after leaving Santa Cecilia, nor that his death wasn't natural. And it seemed _Mamá_ was right about the police not knowing who he was and not being able to tell the family about Héctor's death.

She made her photocopies of the article (and the included sketch) and left the library. She would now have to think of what her next step would be. Should she keep looking for more information or reveal her findings to the family?

A frantic voice broke into her thoughts. Victoria looked up to see Elena's husband, Franco, running up the street towards her. "Victoria! Come quick. We have to get to the hospital."

"Hospital?" she replied, baffled.

Her brother-in-law nodded. "It's _Mamá_ Imelda."

As they rushed to the hospital, Franco told her what happened. The family had all been working in the shop. Her grandmother had gone to the kitchen to prepare lunch. When over an hour went by without her return, Elena had followed only to find her collapsed on the floor. _Mamá_ Imelda had been conscious but unable to move and could only mumble any words. Elena had sent Franco to find Victoria while she, _Papá_ , and _Mamá_ had taken Imelda to the hospital.

They arrived in time to find the doctor speaking with the rest of the family. "…resting comfortably now, but I'm afraid that Imelda Rivera has suffered from a massive stroke. And her prognosis isn't good." He went on to explain how severe the resulting effects of the stroke were and that it was very unlikely that there would be any recovery. All one side of Imelda's body was paralyzed. Her vision and speech also appeared to be impaired. None of which was going to be regained. There was very little the doctor could do.

There wasn't anything the family could do either, except stay by her side. Which they did, taking it each in turns.

When Victoria came to relieve her mother, she could see how just how stricken _Mamá_ was. And Victoria couldn't help but feel the metaphorical weight of the papers she had hastily stuffed into her apron pocket when Franco ran up to her earlier. She knew (they all knew) it was likely that _Mamá_ Imelda wasn't going to live very long. If she did, she would be bed-bound and need around the clock care for everything. And for a woman like Victoria's grandmother, so stubborn and independent, that would be almost like torture. As much as they didn't want to lose her, death would be kinder. _Mamá_ was going to be devastated, worse than when they lost the _Tíos_ and _Tía_ Rosita.

And Victoria realized that she _couldn't_ tell her that her _papá_ was already dead too. That he had died long ago and they never knew about it.

So she didn't say anything.

And she never again saw her mother take that late night moment outside to sing her song to the moon again.


	11. Memories Prologue

**Title:** Remember Me

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** AU

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbah 227_ – Thank you! _Ainmals1_ – You can't always judge how old someone is by the grey in their hair. My dad is in his 60s and the only grey he has in in his mustache and beard. His father, my poppa, was in his 90s when he passed away and he still had a fair bit of dark hair still. My mom on the other hand started to go grey in her 40s. Hell I'm in my 30s and already finding a few grey hairs! _Zyenna_ – I update as I finish chapters and happen to have internet. My job doesn't always make that possible. _Pamela1967_ – Aww, thanks! _Vi-Violence_ – You'll just have to wait for the next instalment! _The Spapphire One_ – I've seen your idea done a few times so I'm a little hesitant to do it myself. It is an interesting one though. _The Pygairian_ – You're welcome. And thank you!

 **Author Notes:** This is going to end up being the prologue to a multi-chapter story that I'm thinking about. It'll probably take a while for me to get it written, but I wanted to see what you all thought about this idea. It may seem confusing. Just remember that this is AU

* * *

Everything was jumbled. Things didn't make sense. He could hear voices. People talking; to him or around him, he wasn't sure. The words were muffled or amplified or distorted so that he couldn't understand what was being said. He could feel… things. Sometimes nothing, sometimes cold or hot, sometimes pain. Sometimes a lot of pain, more than he thought he could bear.

That was the worst.

Very vaguely he was aware of light or darkness. There was more speaking during the light, but more often than not pain during the darkness. Sometimes he thought he could see things. He wasn't sure if they were real or not. People and places that, for the most part, he didn't recognize. There was a few that kept showing up though.

Sometimes there was a man, broad-shouldered and charismatic. The man was angry at him (or was he understanding?). He was doing something and the man didn't want him to do it?

Sometimes there was a woman, beautiful and fierce. She was angry at him too, but he wasn't sure if it was for the same reasons as the man. Maybe it was. She also seemed to want him do something and he wasn't doing it?

Sometimes there was a child, a sweet little girl. She was the one that wasn't angry at him, just sad. Whatever she wanted from him, he wanted to do it with all his heart.

Were they dreams? Or were they real people? He thought he knew them, but just couldn't place how. No names came to mind to match what little he could remember of faces. They were important somehow. Important to him, he thought. Or maybe he was important to them? That led to another thought. Who was he? He was someone; that much he knew. And alive because he felt too horrid to be dead. But an identity, even just a name, eluded him. There was nothing in his memory to put with the words _I am-_.

He drifted between sleep and wakefulness for what seemed like forever. When he finally started to truly wake up, it was to a place he didn't know. The room was quite bare, with the look of one that wasn't lived in. At least not permanently. The walls were blank, just plain whitewash. There was a window, sunlight streaming through the light curtains covering it. He was lying on something relatively soft, a narrow bed, propped up by pillows. And after a moment, he realized he wasn't alone. There was someone talking very near to him. Slowly he turned his head to the side, in the direction of the voice.

There was a boy, perhaps maybe about ten or so, standing next to the bed. Well, not _standing_ per se. For some reason he was lightly jogging in place. "…I used to run like this." The boy was saying, and then he changed his posture, bending slightly at the waist, and started moving his arms and legs much more quickly. "But now I run like this! Which is _way_ faster! And… oh! You're awake!"

" _S… sí_ …" he started to say before devolving into a coughing fit. He hadn't realized until he tried to speak just how dry his mouth and throat were. There was a very fain metallic aftertaste and his throat wasn't only dry but raw feeling. He tried to lift a hand to cover his mouth and was a little alarmed by how weak he felt just doing that.

He didn't even notice that the boy had left the room until he came back, dragging a woman along by the hand. The woman was much older, much much older. She wasn't any sort of beauty, with an over-bite and a weak chin, but she has striking eyes. One brown and one blue. She was lightly scolding the boy. "…told you and told you not to bother the patients, Miguel!"

"But _Tía_ Juanita! He's awake. Dante woke up!" the boy excitedly said.

"You shouldn't call him that. You can't just decide to name someone just because you don't know their name. He's not a street-dog. Now, go find Chicharrón. He will need to see him now." The boy left as the woman came over.

That was when he noticed that his wasn't the only bed in the room. There were at least a dozen, some occupied and some not. One or two had curtained screens set up around them. His bed was the last one, nearest the window.

His coughing has abated somewhat by then, leaving him fighting to regain his breath. The woman poured a glass of water from a pitcher that was sitting on the windowsill. She brought it over and helped him to drink. Finally he as able to croak out " _Gracias_."

" _De nada, señor_ , and I am sorry if Miguel was bothering you. He's a good lad, but sometimes doesn't think before he does something." She refilled the glass and set it on a little table next to his bed.

"Your nephew wasn't really being a bother, I think…" he replied slowly, recalling that the boy had called the woman by _tía_.

The woman shook her head and smiled a little sadly. "Oh, he's not really my nephew, not by blood anyway. His parents died during the flu epidemic and he had nowhere else to go. So my husband and I took him in."

Her mention of that epidemic sparked recognition in him. Suddenly he could remember about that event. He could remember how most of the town had been struck down by the illness. That several people had died. That he and… someone… were dreadfully worried that one of them or… someone else… would fall sick too. Because that someone was so… young maybe? He tried to remember more details; like who the other people were or even the name of the town. But as suddenly as it came, the memory faded, leaving him feeling dizzy and made his head ache.

" _Señor_?" There was concern in the woman's voice as well in the way she touched his shoulder.

" _Lo siento_. I was just… remembering something, but it's… it's gone now." He opened his eyes again to look at her. There was an odd expression on her face that he couldn't place. Instead of trying to figure it out, he decided to ask a question. " _Señora_ , could you answer something for me?" At her nod, he hesitated. The question he really wanted to ask, he had a sudden sinking feeling she couldn't answer. Hadn't she said something to that boy about not knowing a name? "Exactly… where am I?"

That odd look was stronger and it was the woman's turn to hesitate. "Well… you are at Santa Maria Hospital, _señor_ , in México City. Do you know why you are here?"

He thought about it for a moment. Why would someone be in a hospital? Well, obviously, they were sick or hurt in some way. He didn't think he was injured. His head hurt, yes, and he was tired, and there was a lingering ache in his belly. He still felt dizzy and weak. That all meant he had been ill, right? With a fever maybe? He could vaguely recall being too hot and too cold almost at the same time. "I… I was sick… I think…" For some reason the word _chorizo_ popped into his head. Was that the cause of his illness? Had he eaten something that was bad and that had made him sick?

He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember why he was there, where he was, even _who_ he was. That wasn't normal, he was sure. He should remember something. Even that memory he'd had moments ago was now faded too much to recall. It bothered him. He _wanted_ to remember. He _needed_ to remember.

The woman patted his arm again. "Don't worry too much, _señor_. You just woke up. And my husband will be able to explain everything."

As if her words were a conjuring spell, that was when the boy returned with yet another person. A man this time. He was obviously a doctor by the white lab coat, but otherwise he wasn't much like what he thought a _medico_ would look like. This new man was quite short and rather grumpy looking.

"Juanita, ain't it about time you took the boy home?" he said, addressing the woman. He sounded irritated, which didn't seem to faze her. The boy wasn't pleased by the dismissal, however.

"But _Tío_ Cheech…"

"Don't you 'but _Tío_ Cheech' him, Miguel." The woman, Juanita, said as she started to usher the boy away. "It's more than time to go. _Vamanos_."

Miguel made a face, but let her lead him away. Just before they left, he turned and waved. " _Adios_ Dante. See you tomorrow."

He blinked as he watched them leave. After a moment he said, "I am almost certain that is not my name." He looked to this Chicharrón. "Right?"

The man snorted. "You tell us. You were brought in by a couple of labourers that found you near the train station, sick as a dog and delirious. They had no idea who you were either." The doctor paused for a moment, giving him an expectant look.

"Oh." was all he could think to say. None of that sounded familiar to him either.

"Hmmph." The doctor grunted and took out a thermometer. Placing it in his mouth, Chicharrón then took his wrist to check his pulse, listened to his breathing with his stethoscope, and peered into his eyes. Each check was followed by a definite "Hmmm" and scribbling on a clipboard.

"Your 'hmm's are getting longer, Doc." He mumbled around the thermometer. Chicharrón glared at him, but already he was getting the feeling this man was just naturally grumpy. He had to be a good doctor though, to make up for his terrible bedside manner.

Taking back the thermometer, the other man said, "Seems like your fever has finally broken. Your lungs sound better and your heart rate is going back to normal as well. I'll have to run tests to see what other organs might have been damaged, but judging by the fact you don't know your own name, it seems as if there's been some effect to your brain."

Chicharrón went on to ask several questions. How old was he? What year was it? Who was the _Presidente_? Where was he? He was able to answer that one only because he had already asked Juanita that question. The others were all met with a blank look and a shrug. He was able to identify various objects the doctor held up, but all personal and historical information was just not there.

Then Chicharrón asked, "Does Santa Cecilia mean anything to you?"

He paused, blinking several times. "N… no. Who is that?"

"It's not a who." The other man replied. "It's a where. That doesn't ring a bell at all?"

"Should it?" he asked in return. "Do you think that's where I'm from?"

Chicharrón shrugged. "Don't know about that, but it was where you were headed. When the nurses undressed you, they found a train ticket for there in your pocket."

He thought about that. Or at least tried to. There was a familiarity about the name and a vague feeling of longing. But the more he tried to remember the reasons behind that, the dizzier his head got. And the ache that had been lurking behind his eyes increased to a nearly unbearable level. He didn't even realize he had squeezed his eyes shut and was grimacing in pain until there was a tiny pinch in his arm. He cracked an eye open to see the doctor giving him an injection. After a few minutes, the pain receded again.

"Don't push to remember so hard. Memories are tricky things. You'll either get them back or you won't." Chicharrón said. He didn't seem bothered by either outcome. "Sometimes trying too hard get you nowhere and sometimes the strangest things can set them off. Just rest and worry about it later. Besides, _chico_ , you aren't in any condition to do anything about it right now."

The doctor was right about that much. With the headache fading away, so was his strength and awareness. It grew harder to focus or even keep his eyes open. " _Gracias_ … for helping me… Dr Cheech."

"It's my job. Get some sleep. We'll try to get some food into you later. Maybe you'll be able to keep it down now."

Food sounded good, but sleep sounded better at the moment. So he gave in to the doctor's advice.


	12. Abuelo y Nieta

**Title:** Abuelo y Nieta

 **Rating:** K+

 **Spoilers:** parts of the movie

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This is another idea that I haven't really seen much of. We all can kind of guess what Coco's reaction to seeing Héctor again would be. But I thought it would be interesting to write a different family member's reaction. Especially someone who didn't have Miguel's experiences and arrive not knowing the whole truth.

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbah 227_ : I hope to continue it too, but it will likely be as a separate story. But be on the look-out. _Ainmals1_ : It's been fun talking to you in PM. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations _zeldawolf2000_ : Thank you! _Mysteryfan17_ : Well, Like I've said, my Spanish is pretty much non-existant, so thanks for the correction. _Toni America_ : Aww, thank you! Like I said to another review, please be on the look-out for the continuation of that one. _MangaGirl14_ : I'm glad you liked that chapter! _Teddi8347_ : Thank you for the PM. Though I really am writing all of these as separate stories (unless I say it's a sequel like with _Shred of Proof_.

* * *

Elena was at a loss about what to do. Her arrival in the Land of the Dead was something of a mixed blessing. She would miss the family terribly, though she knew they were in the good hands of her sons and daughter. She would miss her dear Franco, but likely he would join her here soon. And she would miss seeing all her grandchildren grow up as well as the arrivals of the next generation of Riveras.

And she was so happy to be with the rest of the family again. Her beloved parents and sister. Her _tíos_ and _tía_. And her grandmother. But there was another family member she wasn't yet sure about. Her grandfather, Héctor. She shouldn't have been surprised that he was there and part of the family, but she couldn't help it. He was the man she had spent most of her life despising, though she knew now that he _wasn't_ the kind of man she had always believed. That he _hadn't_ abandoned his family. That he had intended to come home.

That was one of the first things the family had explained to her after her arrival. _Papá_ Héctor had died of poison given by the hand of a friend, the _músico_ Ernesto de la Cruz. That wasn't the only thing that shocked her. The fact that _Miguel_ had not only been the one to solve the mystery, but had done so after ending up cursed into the Land of the Dead himself, was equally surprising.

At least now she knew what had happened to the boy on the night of _Día de los Muertos_.

She couldn't help but be uneasy around Héctor, however. A lifetime of hating music (and him) wasn't a simple thing to overcome. And it was disconcerting how easy the rest were with him and he was with them. Seeing _Mamá_ Imelda and him dance of an evening. Hearing him and _Tío_ Óscar and Felipe joke around. _Tía_ Rosita and Victoria asking his opinions on what the family should have for dinner. Witness him playing his guitar for _Mamá_ or talking so easily with _Papá_.

It was one thing to forgive him in life, allow his memory and music back into the family and his _foto_ on the _ofrenda_. It was an entirely different matter to be faced with the man in death (in the flesh, so to speak). And Elena wasn't sure how to react to him. As well, he seemed reluctant to interact with her too!

He was polite to her, of course, but he also kept his distance.

Elena was polite back. And if _Mamá_ Imelda had accepted him back, she could learn to accept him too.

It was hard though. She didn't really know him. They didn't seem to have much in common that Elena could see. She was a shoemaker as were all the rest of the family. She had continued the business that her grandmother had started and shoes had always been second only to family as the most important thing in her life. Héctor was a musician. His songs (now that people knew that _he_ had written them and not Ernesto de la Cruz) were making the family as famous as their shoes were. And her grandson was intent to follow in the man's footsteps.

The awkward tension between the two of them did not go unnoticed by the rest of the family either. More than one had taken Elena aside to say the same basic thing.

"Just give him a chance."

She was trying. _Dios mio_ , she was trying. It didn't help that whenever she tried to find the time to try getting to know him, he was never there! He would come and go as he pleased, not unlike that dog of Miguelito's. If she didn't know better, she would swear he had a sixth sense for when she was looking for him. That was a ridiculous thought, really. All right, she knew he went to play in one of the nearby plazas most days and usually he was home in the afternoons and evenings. She had even gone with the family on a few occasions to watch.

She had to admit that it wasn't hard to see where Miguel had gotten his musical talents.

There were some days when he didn't come home, though. Elena tried not to be suspicious the first time he disappeared. None of the others, not even _Mamá_ Imelda, seemed concerned about it so she felt she shouldn't comment either.

They continued to dance about each other for several weeks and might have continued even longer if something didn't change. Then that something did.

It was late one night, well after midnight. Elena couldn't sleep. The bed felt far too large without Franco beside her. She wasn't used to not having him there and she wondered how her own parents had managed all the years they were apart.

Finally she got up, wrapped a robe around herself, and headed to the kitchen to make something warm to drink. Just as she came to the door, she heard someone shuffling about. Her first thought was that some _ladrón_ had broken in to rob them. So off came her _chancla_ and she charged in, flipping the light on as she did so.

Héctor yelped and spun around, already ducking from a blow that wasn't going to happen. Elena had froze the moment she saw who the _intruder_ was. They stared at each other for a moment.

"What are you…?" Elena started to ask at the exact same moment Héctor exclaimed, "Nothing! I was just… uh…"

Elena crossed her arms, _chancla_ still in hand, and eyed her grandfather. Even though he was technically older than her, his physical youth aided in the impression that he was no older than her grandchildren. This moment felt very much like catching one of _them_ sneaking about. Miguel in particular. In fact, this felt exactly like that _Día de los Muertos_ years ago when she and Miguel's parents had found him in the _ofrenda_ room and had announced that he was going to be joining the rest of the family in the workshop. The boy had been up to something back then. Something that lead to the frame of the old family _foto_ breaking and his shocking announcement that he was going to be a musician instead. And _that_ lead to the discovery of his secret _ofrenda_ in the attic and the confrontation between Miguel and the family. And the breaking of the guitar. And Miguel running away and disappearing all night after, apparently, getting cursed. And…

"Elena? What's the matter? Is everything all right?" Héctor asked, breaking her train of thought. The concern in his expression was so much like _Mamá_ 's.

Elena blinked, abruptly coming back to the present. " _S…sí_. I couldn't sleep so I was just going to make some hot cocoa…" she paused for a moment and made a decision. "Would you like some?"

He looked at her in confusion. " _¿Que?_ "

"I asked if you would like some hot cocoa?" she repeated, not realizing her tone had taken on the forcefulness she often used when offering more helpings to her children and grandchildren over the years. She marched pass him to the stove, taking no notice of the wide-eyed expression on Héctor's face.

"Uh… I wouldn't want to be in your way." He replied hesitantly. When she looked at him over her shoulder, Héctor gulped and abruptly sat in one of the chairs around the table. "But if it's not any trouble." He gave her a winsome smile.

She realized she was giving him the same narrow-eyed look she used to give a certain grandson and looked away with a snort. "I can make enough for two as easily as for one."

"Oh."

There was silence as Elena set up a pan of milk on the stove, heating it up and adding cinnamon, chili powder, sugar, salt, and vanilla. As it warmed up, she found the chocolate and started cutting it into slivers. As she worked, she became aware of faint humming and looked at Héctor again. The moment he saw her looking, the humming stopped and he grinned nervously, cringing a little. Elena looked away and back to her work. There was a moment before the humming started again, a little quieter this time. She looked again. The humming stopped again, but this time Héctor was minutely examining the grain of the table. She added the chocolate, stirring the mix to keep it from burning as silence resumed.

The silence started to bother Elena. From what she had observed of her grandfather, silence didn't suit him. And each time she looked at him, he seemed to shrink more into himself. It was like he was afraid of her.

That realization was startling.

"I don't hate you, you know." She said suddenly, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. "You don't have to be afraid of me."

Héctor straightened in his seat. "I'm not afraid! I just…" he trailed off for a moment at her disbelieving look, but continued gamely, "…have a healthy dose of respect for a woman of this family so skilled in the art of the _chancla_. I'm actually a little surprised you _didn't_ take my skull off just a bit ago. Miguel told me about the _mariachi_ from the plaza in Santa Cecilia after all." The smile he gave her became a cheeky one.

If skeletons could to blush, Elena might have at that. At that particular time, she had been full of righteous outrage at the 'corruption' of her precious Miguelito. In the years since, with music allowed in the house, Elena could admit that she _may_ have overreacted a little. _Maybe. Possibly_. At the same time she suspected that Héctor was trying to tease her a little. It was reminiscent of how the twins occasionally teased and were teased by _Mamá_ when Elena was a little girl.

She huffed as she took out a pair of mugs and poured the hot cocoa into them. "That man should have known better. Then again, Miguelito always attracted trouble." She brought the mugs over to the table, setting one in front of her grandfather. She eyed him again, taking in the fact he was still taller than her, even while seated. "One of the many things he apparently inherited from _you_. Twigs, both of you."

Héctor gave a bark of laughter. "And shooting up like a weed, from what I saw last _Día de Muertos_. I was the same at that age, all knees and elbows. The nuns and even Imelda could never seem to fatten me up properly." He took a sip of the hot cocoa. " _Maravilloso_ , Elena. I dare say even better than Imelda's."

"I wouldn't say that. _Mamá_ Imelda's is much better." She replied loyally, sitting in one of the other seats. He chuckled softly at that. This was probably the most at ease he had been with her since Elena arrived. And she was starting to relax a little as well. "Why are you sneaking in so late?"

"Oh. I was visiting some friends." He said, fidgeting with the mug. "Giving one a send-off before… Well, anyway, it took longer than we thought and I was trying to not wake up Imelda."

Elena remembered what she had been told about what Héctor had gone through. That, because of the family's music ban and denial of his presence on the _ofrenda_ , he had nearly been Forgotten. And she now knew what that meant. He would have completely vanished from all existence. It left her feeling guilty about her part in it, insisting that this man she had never met was better off forgotten. Of course, she had always believed that he had walked away from his family without a second thought. She had never questioned why. Not until Miguel started up about it and _Mamá_ had revealed about the letters. Letters that painted a very different picture of the man.

Elena had once asked her mother why she hadn't shown those letters before. Coco had just given her a knowing look and asked, "What's the first thing you would've done, if I had? You and the family weren't ready to see them, _mija_. Not until your opinions of music changed. I knew that when _Mamá_ died. I _had_ wanted to show you back then, but I also couldn't bear losing the last shred I had of _Papá_."

 _Mamá_ had been right. If it hadn't been for that fiasco with Miguel, she would never have had reason to rethink her opinion on music and her grandfather. She wouldn't have wanted to listen, considering her instinctive reaction to the mere mention of the man she had had before.

" _Papá_ Héctor," she said suddenly, keeping her eyes on the mug in her hands. "I want to apologize for what the family…" Elena paused and then corrected herself, "…for what _I_ was doing to you. Denying your memory, keeping your _foto_ off the _ofrenda_ , and…"

"Hey… hey… None of that." Héctor interrupted, snapping his fingers. He reached across the table and took the mug out of her hands. He then clasped his hands over hers. "Elena, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Imelda and everyone else. I _don't_ blame any of you. It wasn't your fault, it was mine."

It was Elena's turn to interrupt. "It wasn't entirely yours either. That Señor de la Cruz was the one that started the whole mess."

Héctor shook his head. "It's nice that you think that, but the thing is… I knew Ernesto better than anyone. We had grown up together. He was practically _mi hermano_. I should have known what his ambition would drive him to do."

"He was a tricky man." She replied with the disgust she felt for the _músico_. "After all, he managed to fool all of México into thinking he was a musical genius. Good thing he was also lazy and didn't get rid of your songbook." Elena looked at him. "Did _Mamá_ tell you that was how we were able to prove it was you who wrote those songs instead of him?"

" _Sí_ , she did. Though, honestly, it doesn't matter to me that the world knows that. Having my family know has been more than enough for me." He gave her a crooked smile and picked up his mug again. He leaned forward and put both elbows on the table. "So why couldn't you sleep?"

Elena stared hard at those elbows, gritting her teeth against saying anything. He _was_ her grandfather after all; it wasn't her place no matter how much it was irritating her. She was so caught up in fighting her grandmotherly instinct that she nearly missed the question. "It's… well, it's Franco. My husband. I miss him and I'm not used to _not_ having him there and…" Suddenly she realized that he and _Mamá_ Imelda had been apart for far longer. Nearly a century in fact. And she couldn't help but feel a little ashamed to be complaining about being separated from her husband for only a few weeks so far. She glanced up at Héctor.

He merely nodded in understanding. "Ah. Imelda and I had the opposite problem. We had to get used to sleeping together again." He took a drink from his mug. "Keeping mind that I would _never_ wish anything bad on anyone in the family, in-law or otherwise, but I do hope you don't have to wait too long to be together again."

"I probably won't. His health hasn't been the best lately." Franco had been having problems with shortness of breath and the doctors had seen concerning spots on his lungs. Elena sighed. "Frankly, I was a little surprised that I went before him."

"I never got the chance to consider the question before it was too late." He commented quietly, more to himself than to her. Then Héctor shook himself all over, making his bones rattle. "Moving on to less depressing topics, how long do you think it will be before Abel proposes to that _señorita_ of his?"

Elena was as grateful as he was to change the subject. It was actually nice to hear his interest in the rest of the family, not just about Miguel. And talking about the grandchildren helped her to relax a little more. She gave a soft snort. "God only knows. It took Berto forever to propose to Gloria after all."

He chortled. "Something that did not come from me. I knew right away that I was going to marry Imelda." He grinned at her. "She rightfully said no the first dozen or so times, of course."

"She did?" she asked curiously. This was, after all, completely knew information to her. She hardly knew anything about how her grandparents had met and courted. And it was the kind of story that _should_ have been known by the family. It was a shame that it wouldn't, at least not by the living family.

" _Sí_." He nodded, still grinning. "Then again, we were six the first time I asked, so that probably had something to do with it."

Elena stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. The absurdity of a six year-old Héctor proposing to six year-old Imelda was beyond what she could imagine. It was hard to imagine her grandparents as children, just as it was hard sometimes to imagine her own parents being children. And it was hard to believe, sometimes, that her strong serious grandmother had really been married to this ridiculous and silly man. That thought brought about another.

When the others had taken turns telling her about what had happened on that _Día de los Muertos_ , Elena had not missed the awe that both Victoria and _Tía_ Rosita had shown when they told of hearing _Mamá_ Imelda singing on stage at the Sunrise Spectacular. She had never known her grandmother like music enough to ever sing, even if she liked it enough to marry Héctor. The very idea was just too bizarre. But at the same time, Elena realized that there was probably a great deal she didn't know about _Mamá_ Imelda's and _Papá_ Héctor's first meeting and courtship.

At least now there was a chance to learn.


	13. Changed by Death

**Title:** Changed by Death

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** I see a few other writers do this sort of idea that Miguel could still see the Dead afterwards. I'm trying my own spin on the idea and really this started because of a single line of the movie. I then rewrote this several times, trying to settle on exactly how this was going to go. And it's ended up being much longer than I thought

 **Reviews:** _Agent Numbah 227_ – Thanks! I will admit that it was hard to write. _Ainmals1_ – Glad you liked it. _Zyenna_ – Thank you! I will try but sometimes I get delayed in posting, either by writer's block or getting sidetracked by other ideas. _Pamela1967_ – Glad you like it! _Zeldawolf2000_ – Thank you for pointing out the typo. I think it got missed because 'loss' and 'lost' are both real words so my spellcheck didn't catch it. _Mysteryfan17_ – Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. _Luiz4200_ – I hope my PM helped explain my perspective on that. And yes, it was the best news wasn't it. And maybe Victoria should have, but right when she figured what happened, that's when Imelda dies, so all that kind of goes to the wayside. _Dragonrider1234_ – Actually most of these are not connected. The only ones that are connected at the moment is the _Shred of Proof_ chapters.

* * *

" _Get your family's blessing and everything should go back to normal."_

Miguel would ruefully recall those words that the Department of Family Reunions clerk had said for years. At the time, he and the rest of his dead family were more concerned about getting a solution to his curse and preventing the immediate consequences of him turning into a skeleton and being forever trapped in the Land of the Dead. Even when he ran off to try to reach his supposed great-great-grandfather and get a condition-free blessing, he never considered that simple choice of words.

"… _everything_ _ **should**_ _go back to normal…"_

 **Should.**

Even after he made it home and helped _Mamá_ Coco remember _Papá_ Héctor, he still didn't realize that his little adventure would have an even more profound effect on him than learning the truth of his musician ancestor and the true value of family. That it would change his life forever. As the story goes, once you've been down the rabbit-hole there is no going back.

Life went on, but it was no longer the same for Miguel. He'd been somewhere no living person had been in Remembered memory. The actual Land of the Dead. The place where people went only after dying. He'd gone there _and_ come home again.

And he was changed because of it.

He used to think he was cursed because of what happened to _Papá_ Héctor. How he never quite fit in because of his love of music while the rest of the family all hated it. He knew now that wasn't true. The curse that music was for his family hadn't been _Papá_ Héctor's fault. It never would have happened if Ernesto de la Cruz hadn't poisoned Miguel's great-great-grandpa and stolen his songs in the first place. Some days, he still felt cursed. Not quite in the imagined way of before and not in the literal way he was on _Día de los Muertos_.

The Living are not supposed to cross over and back again. It's supposed to be a one-way journey only. Even the Dead could only visit one day of the year and only if there was a _foto_ on an _ofrenda_.

It started with little things. Glowing things, animals and even people. He tried to ignore it. Pretend he was just imagining things. Even after he saw the same glow around _Mamá_ Coco before she died. After all, it wasn't _Día de los Muertos_ anymore and normal didn't include any weird glows. He was supposed to be safe in the Living World now. And it wasn't like he could ask anyone about it. Anyone who could know the answers was on the other side of the flower bridge.

He might have been able to continue to ignore it if it weren't for the following _Día de los Muertos_ and the sight of the Dead coming to visit the Living. It was just like last year and Miguel could see them. Except _that_ should have been impossible. He had taken extra care not to take anything off the _ofrenda_ or from a grave. He shouldn't be able to see or hear the Dead!

But he could.

It had taken every bit of performance skill he had ever practiced to pretend he wasn't seeing anything unusual. He didn't want his parents or _Abuelita_ to be worried. They had fussed over him enough after his disappearance the year before. And he didn't want his family to think he was _loco_. He thought he had pulled it off fairly well, even when _Papá_ Héctor had taken a copy of his guitar while Miguel was preforming his new song, causing a huge shiver to pass through the boy.

Later though, when his Living family was busy and his Dead family had gone into the _ofrenda_ room to collect the offerings left for them, Miguel decided to try getting some answers. He followed behind them, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one else was paying attention to him. Watching everyone exclaim over the offerings made the boy smile. Seeing _Mamá_ Imelda and _Papá_ Héctor stand hand in hand made him smile more. It was nice to know that they had worked things out between them.

He sidled up beside his great-great-grandparents. " _Hola, Mamá_ Imelda, _Papá_ Héctor."

That got everyone's attention. _Papá_ Héctor jumped with an exclamation of surprise. _Papá_ Julio and _Tío_ Óscar and _Tío_ Felipe all yelped. _Tía_ Victoria sighed and rolled her eyes at _Tía_ Rosita and _Mamá_ Coco, muttering "Here we go again." And _Mamá_ Imelda reared her head back and scowled.

"Miguel! What have you done?!" she cried with the same fierceness she had used the year before. And a year ago Miguel would have cringed away from her displeasure. Now though, he was pretty sure she couldn't actually _do_ anything except scold him. Still, her scoldings could be just as bad as her boot.

"I haven't done anything this time, _Mamá_ Imelda!" he immediately explained, holding up his hands as she stalked towards him. He had a brief flash of that moment when he and _Papá_ Héctor had gone to visit the woman, Ceci. She had advanced on his great-great-grandfather in much the same manner over the lost dress. _Mamá_ Imelda loomed over him, arms folded and eyes narrowed. "I swear!"

"Now, now, Imelda. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation." _Papá_ Héctor tried to calm her down. He looked at Miguel. "Right?"

Miguel took a deep breath, clutching his wrist. "Well, I was hoping you could find out for me." He went on to explain everything that he had been seeing in the last year, adding that, unlike last time, he couldn't touch them. He proved that by putting his hand through _Mamá_ Imelda's arm. Just like during his performance, a shiver went up his arm from the 'contact'. "I wasn't sure what I should do, but the only place I knew where I could get answers would be the Department of Family Reunions. That clerk seemed to know what to do last time. But I don't know if I can go with you though, since I'm not cursed this time. And I don't want to disappear and make _Mamá_ and _Papá_ worry again."

"Even if the Department does have an explanation," _Tía_ Victoria said, stepping forward, "how will we let Miguel know? It's late now and there might not be enough time before sunrise to find out."

 _Tía_ Rosita came up beside Victoria, wringing her hands. "We can't make Miguelito wait a year to find out anything!"

Miguel had to agree with that. He _didn't_ want to be forced to wait a year to know exactly why he was going crazy. Or not crazy. Whatever this is supposed to be. As the others tried to figure out a way, _Mamá_ Coco put her arm around his shoulders. Not actually touching him, but using the same motion. He smiled thankfully at her. He had missed her these last few months.

Finally _Papá_ Héctor said, "What about Dante? We could send him with what we find out."

"You want us to trust that _dog_?" _Mamá_ Imelda replied, giving her husband an are-you-kidding look. The whole family turned as one. In the doorway of the _ofrenda_ room was the Xolo, chasing his tail. The dog ran face first into the doorframe, stumbled back, shook himself, and sat down to chew on a hind leg without a care in the world.

"Okay, yes, it is a _terrible_ idea," _Papá_ Héctor answered, "but what other choice do we have? We can't send Pepita. She's your _alebrije_ , Imelda, and bound by the same rules as us because you're already dead. Miguel is still alive, so in theory Dante should be able to come back whenever he wants."

 _Mamá_ Imelda had to concede that _Papá_ Héctor had a point about that. So after they collect the offerings from the _ofrenda_ , the dead Riveras left, promising to send word to him. Miguel went to sleep that night, comforted that soon he would know what was going on and what he had to do to fix this. _If_ there was a way to fix this.

There wasn't, he eventually found out.

It took nearly a week for Dante to show up, a leather pouch tied around his neck. Apparently if his _alebrije_ brought something across, it became tangible. Or maybe it was also because Miguel was alive still. Wasn't that why _Papá_ Héctor wanted Miguel to take his photo back with him? Whatever the reason, there were papers inside the pouch. And they pretty much explained everything.

In short, his little trip to the Land of the Dead the year before was a very rare occurrence. Only a handful of Living people over the centuries had ever ended up there. The last one had been almost two hundred years ago, in fact. And only a couple had made it _back_ to the Land of the Living before sunrise like Miguel. In at least one of those cases, there was reported _other_ effects from their journeys. That's why the clerk had said that everything _should_ go back to normal. And it was likely that his return being so close to sunrise had a lot to do with these new 'powers' of his. It had been a very close thing for him.

 _Papá_ Héctor had added a note that _Mamá_ Imelda had been a little irritated that they weren't warned about that. _**It actually is much more amusing to see her go off like that when you aren't the one she's mad at,**_ **chamaco.**

Miguel had giggled to himself when he read that part. A 'little irritated' was a massive understatement when it came to _Mamá_ Imelda's temper.

Still, there was no way to 'fix' this. It was explained that it was like when an animal was weaned. Once that happens, the creature can no longer digest milk. Miguel had developed this new sense and there was no way to turn it 'off'. It was just as if he could see a new set of colours. They didn't believe that it would hurt him, however, and he would get used to it.

And he did, to some extent. As the year went on, he learned not to react to seeing things no one else did. It wasn't all bad. Being able to see which animals were destined to become _alebrijes_ was sometimes interesting. And getting to see his Dead family on _Día de los Muertos_ was the best. He always took time to sneak away from his Living family so that he could chat with them, tell them what had gone on during the year and hear about what was happening in the Land of the Dead.

The hardest thing to deal with was knowing that someone was going to die. He did _not_ like that aspect of this new gift. Especially when it was a family member of someone he knew. It was worse on the rare times he saw someone young glowing and probably the most frustrating part was that he couldn't really do anything to change it. He didn't even know _when_ or _how_ it was going to happen, just that it was.

It wasn't until after he turned 18 that he learned that these weren't the only things he could see.

He was driving back home from a neighbouring village. As he grew older, Miguel had started to make a name from himself as a musician. Between _Papá_ Héctor's songs and his own, he was becoming well-known locally as one of the best _mariachi_ to have at weddings, _quinceañeras_ , or other celebrations. Miguel didn't let it go to his head, remembering to always put family first instead of ending up like his former idol Ernesto de la Cruz.

He was coming back from one such gig, driving the ancient 60 year old pick-up the family still used for leather deliveries for the shop. Normally he wouldn't have bothered; he could have caught a ride with someone or at worse walked, except that his _Mamá_ and _Abeulita_ had insisted because of how late he was going to be. He didn't complain too much since it kept his family from worrying about him.

And it was late, well after midnight. There was no one else on the narrow road and the only light being the truck's headlights and the full moon overhead. Miguel had a while left to go. He was tired, but also energized from performing. Tapping the steering wheel, he was humming the tune of _Un Poco Loco_ to keep himself alert. But just as he drove around a bend and pass a copse of trees, something dashed out across the road in front of him. It was too fast for him to identify what though.

Miguel slammed on the brakes which caused the old truck to start skidding. He kept one hand on the steering wheel as his other grabbed for the guitar case sitting on the passenger seat beside him. The case contained _Papá_ Héctor's guitar and Miguel reacted instinctively to protect it. The truck skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust and died. Miguel took a moment to release the breath he was holding.

"Stupid animal." He muttered to himself. "The last thing I need is to crash and end up in the Land of the Dead permanently." He peered out the windshield, but could see no sign of whatever it was. He hadn't felt a bump so he had probably missed it. Shaking his head, Miguel turned the key to restart the truck.

Nothing.

He frowned and tried again. "Come on."

Still nothing.

Miguel groaned and thumped his head on the steering wheel. Just his luck. Muttering darkly under his breath about crazy animals and stupid trucks, he dug out the flashlight from the glove box and climbed out. He popped the hood. There didn't seem to be anything obviously wrong. Then again, Miguel was no expert when it came to vehicles. That role fell, surprisingly, to his younger twin cousins. Or maybe not so surprisingly. Manny and Benny seemed to take very much after _Tíos_ Óscar and Felipe in that they were always tinkering with something. They may be only ten, but they were already pretty good at getting the ageing workshop machines and even this truck to continue running.

Miguel, on the other hand, only knew enough to fill it with gas and drive it. He jiggled a few hoses and wires and tried starting it again with no success. And when he grabbed his cell phone, an old basic flip-phone, he saw that there _just happened_ to be no service where he was. "Of course no bars."

He was stuck. If he couldn't get the truck to start, Miguel was left with two options. Start walking now or wait until morning and then start walking. He did _not_ fancy walking through the dark, but he also knew his family would be worried if he was even later getting home than he had said. He sat for a moment trying to decide which would be the better option.

That's when the hairs went up on the back of his neck. The area around the pick-up was completely silent. Normally that would be understandable since wild animals would have been scared off. But there was something eerie about this silence. Something that Miguel couldn't put his finger on. And by now, he was used to seeing strange and unusual things.

Miguel looked out the windshield again, scanning the trees and bushes. Nothing moved or caught his eye right away. Then he heard something moving in the bushes on the far side of the truck. Slowly he got out again and came around the front of the pick-up to shine the flashlight into those bushes. It may have seemed silly, but he still called out "Whatever is there, you better come out."

The movement stopped.

All of a sudden a warm form bumped into Miguel's hip. He started with a shout and swung around to find Dante standing next to him, looking up with tongue lolling. " _¡Dios mio!_ Dante, you scared me!" The dog had not been with him in the truck, but did have a habit of showing up in what most would consider suspicious circumstances. When he wasn't spending time with Miguel's dead relatives that is. Dante barked cheerfully in response before looking towards the bushes intently.

There was another rustle of leaves, bringing Miguel's attention back to the bushes as well. After what seemed like the longest moment of his life, _something_ emerged. And it was _not_ any ordinary creature. At first Miguel thought it was just another Xoloitzcuintli like Dante. It was hairless and vaguely dog-shaped. But that's where the comparison ended. For one thing, it was far larger that Dante (the head nearly reaching Miguel's chest) and for another, it had a prominent ridge of spines down its back, bulging eyes, and sharp fangs in a lipless muzzle.

And it glowed slightly. Not the golden light or the bright cheerful colours of _alebrijes_. This was a murky red-brown colour that made Miguel's stomach turn slightly.

Miguel's mouth went dry. He recognized this creature from urban legends and folklore. It was _El Chupacabra_ , The Goatsucker. A monster that shouldn't exist, except that he, of all people, knew that myths are more real than anyone could guess.

It stared at him (its eyes like a reptile's) as it turned its head back and forth. Miguel started to wonder if he and Dante could get into the dubious safety of the truck before it attacked. But then Dante barked and trotted forward with absurdly casual aplomb. Miguel tried to grab his dog, but to no avail. The creature, to his surprise, crouched slightly so that its head was lower than Dante's. At the same time, it made a strange chittering noise. It sounded for all the world almost like whining.

Miguel was no expert in _chupacabra_ behaviour, but if it had been another dog he would swear that it was acting submissive to Dante. He had to wonder if there was a hierarchy of supernatural creatures and if this meant that _alebrijes_ were higher on it than _chupacabras_.

Dante, for his part, sniffed noses with the monster and started wagging his tail as if he had just met another playmate. The creature chittered again and looked at Miguel. Dante barked and bounced playfully. More chittering and then a noise so unearthly that Miguel could not describe it. Dante barked once more and stopped trying to play. The creature let out another unearthly noise and turned to go back into the bushes. Miguel's dog started to follow before looking back at his person.

It dawned on Miguel that the _chupacabra_ was acting bizarrely. In all the stories he knew about them it said they were bloodthirsty monsters that attacked livestock and sucked them dry. This one had not attacked and seemed to be seeking them out purposefully. It wanted them to follow it. Dante seemed to trust it and the Xolo had never led Miguel wrong before. He had even done his best to keep Miguel with Héctor during their adventure in the Land of the Dead, even when Miguel wouldn't listen.

Miguel looked at Dante, at the truck, and then at the flashlight in his hand. He took a deep breath and sighed. He couldn't believe he was about to do this, but he still moved to follow his dog. Really, his life could _not_ get any weirder.

The strange group trekked through the bushes along a vague trail until they reached a clearing. There was another _chupacabra_ there, pacing in front of a large hole in the ground. When this one saw Miguel, it made a horrible hooting screech as it started to advance on him. But the one leading them chittered, which seemed to calm this new one. It eyed Miguel warily but moved away from the hole. Miguel kept a just as wary eye on the monsters as he followed Dante over. The moonlight was just enough to see that the hole was actually a _cenote_. Not all that different from the one that he and _Papá_ Héctor had been thrown into by Ernesto de la Cruz's security guards. This one wasn't quite as flooded though. And there was something making the same sounds as the two _chupacabras_. Miguel couldn't see so he aimed the beam of his flashlight in.

Below was a trio of smaller _chupacabras_ huddled together among the rocks. They were tiny, probably no bigger than Chihuahuas. Miguel realized that these were the young of the other two. They had gotten trapped in the sinkhole and the adults (their parents?) couldn't get them out. He looked at the creatures nearby.

"You want me to get them out for you?" he asked, long past the point of feeling silly or embarrassed. The first _chupacabra_ made a hissing noise that Miguel took for a yes. "Okay then, here's the deal. I get your babies out, but you have to never go near the villages or the farms. You can hunt all the wild animals you want, but no livestock, no pets, no people. _¿Convenido?_ " Another hiss. Miguel nodded and looked in the hole. It was a long way down. "I think there's some rope in the truck. I'll be right back."

Neither creature tried to stop him and he was soon back with not only the rope but an old burlap sack that has also been in the back of the pick-up. Miguel tied knots at intervals along the rope and then tied it as firmly as he could to a tree next to the hole. He stripped off his _charro_ jacket so that it wouldn't get dirty and his shoes and socks so that he could feel the rope better with his feet. After a moment of thought he also stripped off his pants, leaving him in singlet and boxers. The last thing he needed was to damage the brand new suit. And it wasn't like anyone would see him.

Slinging the sack over his shoulder, Miguel shimmied down the rope. He had picked a spot as close to the dry part of the _cenote_ as he could, ending up in a shallow bit of water that was only ankle deep. The baby _chupacabras_ were just as suspicious of him as the second adult had been, though they backed away instead of trying to attack. Miguel crouched down and cautiously held out a hand to them, hoping that they wouldn't take it as an invitation to bite. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to take you back to your _mamá y papá_." He tried coaxing. The way the three tumbled together and hiss-yapped at each other almost reminded him of de la Cruz's Chihuahua _alebrijes_. For a second he wondered what ever happened to them, but pushed it from his mind. Finally they seemed to decide that he was safe and came to him.

Miguel found that, when he picked them up, their skin wasn't at all warm like Dante's was. It was cool and almost felt like scales. The spiny ridges were very sharp though and he hoped that they wouldn't poke each other or rip open the sack. Once all three were safely stowed away, he slung on the sack and climbed back up the rope.

It was hard and Miguel was sweating a lot by the time he reached the top. He just sat on the ground at the edge of the hole and released the baby _chupacabras_. They tumbled out, protesting in screeches, and scrambled over to their parents. The two adults sniffed and nuzzled the young, clearly checking them over for signs of damage, either from their time in the sinkhole or from being hauled out. It was exactly the same way a mother dog or cat would check her babies after such an adventure.

Then one of the adults approached Miguel. It was the second one, he thought. Miguel remained still as it sniffed his face (its breath was _rancid_!) and then bowed its head to him. He realized that it was thanking him. Beside him Dante barked joyfully. Trying not to gag from the bad breath, Miguel said " _De nada_."

The creature bowed its head again and the small group left, disappearing into the night with eerie cries.

Miguel shook his head, put his pants and shoes back on, and collected the rope from the tree. He and Dante headed back to the truck. Once there, Miguel threw the rope and sack in the back (making a note to untie all the knots later) and moved the guitar case out of the way so that Dante could climb in.

Miguel sat for a moment in the driver's seat. It hit him right then that he had just helped out a family of monsters. He started to chuckle. It was ridiculous. He could see and hear the Dead on _Día de los Muertos_. He could see people's _alebrijes_. He could tell that someone was going to die. And he had just made a deal with _El Chupacabras_.

 _ **Everything should go back to normal**_ **.**

If he ever saw that clerk again, Miguel seriously contemplated hitting him in his non-existent nose. Or maybe he would sic _Mamá_ Imelda on him again.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Miguel reached for the key and turned it.

And the truck roared to life.

He stared at the nose of the vehicle for a moment in stunned surprise. "You have _got_ to be kidding!" He looked at his dog on the passenger seat and demanded, "Don't tell me that those things made the truck _die_ just so that I would stop and help them?"

Dante looked back at him and sneezed. And then started scratching the side of his neck.

Miguel gave him an unamused look. "The next one should just _ask_ instead of trying to crash the truck. I don't want to have to explain _that_ to _mi familia_ , Living or Dead." Annoyed, he put the truck in gear to continue to drive home.


	14. The Day After

**Title:** The Day After

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** This idea sort of popped into my head very quickly and practically begged to be written. I hope you like it.

 **Reviews:** _Anime100_ – I try to update as often as I can. It all depends of when I get a chapter finished. _Zeldawolf2000_ – Thank you. I may or may not come back to the idea. _TabbyKat405_ – Glad you like it! _Agent Numbah 227_ – I know it was sort of the obvious choice. I had the idea for a different cryptid that I had seen once of a TV show, but I couldn't remember what it was called. And google wasn't being much help. _Ainmals1_ – Thank you! _Dragonrider1234_ – Thanks! Like I said earlier, I might. It depends on if something inspires me. _D. M. Robb_ – I do try to keep everyone in character. It can be hard though. _KorrieChan_ – We'll see!

* * *

That morning after _Día de los Muertos_ , as they listened to _Mamá_ Coco talk about her _papá_ , Luisa couldn't help but notice how her son hung on every word. Miguel's attention never wavered from his great-grandmother, listening with an intensity that left Luisa mystified. He would even prompt _Mamá_ Coco occasionally with suggestions or bits of songs. It was as if her son felt it was absolutely vital to hear every bit of information about his great-great-grandfather as possible from _Mamá_ Coco. Which may not have been too surprising since he _had_ stood on the roof of the workshop just the day before, declaring he had figured out who the man had been that he was going to be musician just like him.

Eventually the stories came to an end. _Mamá_ Coco trailed off, smiling, and it was also about that moment that Luisa noticed how exhausted Miguel looked. Wherever he had been, it had been as little of a peaceful night for him as it had been for the rest of the family. The only reason Luisa had gotten any rest instead of spending the night searching with Enrique was because of her pregnancy. Even then, her sleep had not been restful. She glanced meaningfully at her husband and Enrique stepped forward before anyone else could.

"I think _Mamá_ Coco has had enough excitement for now. And you could use some rest, _míjo_." He said kindly, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. Maybe it was a sign of just how tired he was, but Miguel didn't argue. The rest of the family, crowded in behind Elena, Luisa, and Enrique to listen, parted to let parents and son through. There were questions in everyone's eyes, but none wished to voice them at that moment.

Miguel was practically asleep on his feet. Even the short walk across the yard and up the stairs was almost too much for him. He was swaying slightly as he walked between them. Luisa and Enrique guided him into his room and over to the bed. Miguel didn't sit down so much as collapse onto it. He looked up at them blearily.

" 'M sorry for makin' you worry, _Mamá y Papá_." He said, his speech blurred with fatigue. "Didn' mean to… didn' wanna disappear… wanna'd t'come home…"

She and her husband exchanged looks briefly. They were relieved that Miguel had had a change of heart in the hours he had been missing. Neither one of them would forget his angry harsh words before running off.

" _I don't want to_ _ **be**_ _in this family!"_

And Miguel had had every right to be upset at that time. It had been clear to Luisa how much her son had cherished that cobbled together guitar. He had put in a great deal of time and effort, making that pitiful excuse of an instrument look like that of Señor Ernesto de la Cruz's. Seeing how desperate he was to show his talent to his family only to have the guitar smashed right in front of him. Both Luisa and Enrique had known the instant before it happened that Elena was about to go too far. And Enrique had even tried to stop his _mamá_ to no avail.

"We're just glad you came back, _míjo_ ," Luisa told him as she ran a hand over his hair, "but for now, get some sleep. We can talk later."

Miguel nodded once wordlessly and pretty much passed out right then, falling over onto his side rather than lie down properly. Enrique knelt to remove the boy's boots as Luisa got some pajamas from the dresser. They changed Miguel out of his clothes and tucked him into bed.

After that Luisa insisted that her husband get some sleep himself. He had spent all night walking the streets of Santa Cecilia after all. He agreed and started for the door. When she didn't follow, Enrique looked back.

She shook her head. "I'm going to stay here for a bit." She didn't want to leave just yet. It was probably _loco_ , but Luisa couldn't shake the feeling that Miguel would disappear again if she left. She couldn't bear the thought of losing her son. But if she stayed and watched over him as he slept, it wouldn't happen. Enrique nodded and left. He was back moments later carrying the rocking chair that had been set up in their room next to the crib in anticipation of the new baby. He set the chair next to the bed and gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving again.

Luisa sat in the rocking chair, running a hand over her swollen belly. With so much _excitement_ over the last 24 hours, she was thankful that she hadn't gone into premature labour. It seemed this little one sensed that they could only deal with one emergency at a time. Luisa was sailing through this pregnancy, which was a relief considering how hard it had been to conceive a second child. And then, through their family's actions, they had nearly lost their firstborn.

About an hour into Luisa's vigil, there was a soft knock on the door and Gloria stepped in. The woman was Luisa's older cousin as well as her sister-in-law and the two of them had been as close as sisters. So close that few had found it strange that they both married men from the same family. In fact it had been at Gloria's and Berto's wedding that Luisa had met Enrique. And both had chosen to give up music for the men they loved.

Gloria had a plate of food in one hand, Miguel's shoe-shine kit slung over one arm, and a basket of nearly finished shoes. She handed the plate to Luisa and set the other things on the floor next to the chair. "You need to eat something, _Prima_. Enrique came down and said you were going to be sitting with him for a while. So I thought you might like something to do." She said softly so as to not disturb the sleeping child. "How is he?"

"Very tired, I think. He was asleep almost before we could get him into bed." Luisa replied just as quietly. She picked at the food and sighed. "I just wish I knew what happened to him, where he was all night."

"About that…" Gloria trailed off with a troubled look on her face. She chewed her lip and continued. "You remember how last night Miguel was so certain that Señor Ernesto de la Cruz was his ancestor and that was why he was meant to be a musician?" When Luisa nodded, she went on. "Well, I think… I think he might have been mistaken. Carmen and I went into _Mamá_ Coco's room. To get the _foto_. Carmen's gone to get a new frame for it, but I think you should see this."

She held out the repaired picture. Luisa recalled seeing little Rosa fetching some tape during the stories and Miguel fixing it. She had seen the photo many times ever since she had joined the family. The stern face of _Mamá_ Imelda and the young one of _Mamá_ Coco were so very familiar. The guitar in the man's hand was less familiar, though easily recognizable, and the man's face… Luisa's eyebrows rose and her mouth dropped open. She looked up at her cousin.

Gloria nodded. "That man is _not_ Señor Ernesto de la Cruz. But that is his guitar, the same one Miguel brought home. And there can't be any question about where Miguel got it."

Luisa did not like the implication her son had stolen the white guitar, even though she knew it was the only way he could have gotten it. "Enrique and I searched all over that graveyard. There was no sign of him. Miguel _wasn't_ there."

"But you did say there was a whole commotion around the crypt. That someone had tried to break in." Gloria shook her head. "I'm sure there has to be another explanation, but I can't think what."

Luisa looked at the _foto_ again, thinking back over the night before. Enrique had rounded on his mother after Miguel ran off, telling her off for causing the boy to run away. It could have developed into a terrible rift that would split the family, but Luisa had stepped in. She insisted that they not waste time and go after Miguel. So she and her husband had left, heading for the plaza first since they both recalled how eager Miguel had been to sign up for the talent show earlier that day. But when they got there, the woman organizing the list of performers told them that she had turned Miguel away from signing up because he didn't have an instrument. Asking around, they found out he had tried to borrow a guitar from various musicians waiting their turn without success.

They were at a loss of where to look next when the last _mariachi_ mentioned seeing the boy head to the cemetery. Luisa and Enrique couldn't imagine why he would have gone there, but they thanked the man and hurried on their way. While at the cemetery, Luisa suddenly felt something strange. A shiver passed through her at one point and she had a sudden foreboding feeling that something terrible had happened to her son. That was just before they noticed the commotion at the crypt. When they learned that someone had broken in and tried to steal the guitar, they had feared it had been Miguel except that whoever it was had seemingly vanished into thin air without taking it.

Luisa couldn't shake the feeling she had had. Enrique had started to worry that the stress wasn't good for her and the baby. Even though she wanted to continue searching, he insisted on taking her home. She only relented when he said he would get Berto and Abel to help him, his nephew being more than old enough to help. Returning to the family compound, Luisa refused to speak to her mother-in-law. She had gone straight to the room she shared with her husband and stayed there with the door shut. Gloria and Carmen had come by with some dinner, but other than that Luisa stayed away from everyone. She had tried to sleep, but her worries kept her restless. Even her unborn child seemed to have caught her ill-ease. She could feel the baby move about within her womb just as restlessly as she was.

The next morning, when she heard the commotion outside _Mamá_ Coco's room and learned that Miguel had come home, Luisa couldn't contain the relief she had felt.

She examined the _foto_ for a moment more. Luisa was surprised to see so much resemblance between her husband and the man in the photo. The shape of the face, the slant of the chin, and that nose… She had always thought Enrique had gotten his nose from _Papá_ Julio, but it was clear where he actually inherited it from. Her attention turned to the guitar once more.

"I wonder… Could _Mamá_ Coco's _papá_ have sold the guitar after he left Santa Cecilia? And that's how de la Cruz got it?" Luisa spoke more to herself, but Gloria answered her anyway.

"Carmen and I thought that too. We asked _Mamá_ Coco, she was still alert you see, and she said that was impossible. The guitar was a wedding gift from _Mamá_ Imelda and her _papá_ wouldn't sell it to anyone for anything. She did confirm that the guitar was her _papá_ 's though." The older woman shook her head and took the photograph beck from Luisa. "Anyway, I'll leave you be for now."

Luisa smiled. " _Gracias, Prima_."

Gloria nodded and left. Luisa remained at Miguel's bedside. Occasionally a family member would look in on them. Carmen came by with a tray of lunch, including enough for Miguel who never woke to eat, and took the basket of shoes away. In late afternoon, Enrique returned, looking at least a little rested. By that point Luisa had abandoned the rocking chair for a seat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with Miguel curled up against her as she stroked his hair.

When her husband came in, Luisa fell silent. She had been humming softly, something she hadn't done since before they had gotten married. "He was having a bad dream." She said, a defensive tone to her voice. "I thought it would help calm him down and it did."

" _Cálmete mi amor_. It's all right." he replied as he came over to stand next to her. "We talked it over with _Mamá_. She's agreed that it's time to end the music ban. Though I suspect you wouldn't have let that stop you anymore." Luisa didn't say anything, but the lack of denial said more than words could. He put his arm around her. "You should take a break. You've been up here most of the day. I can sit with him."

Her husband was right. Luisa sighed, but also started the process of heaving herself to her feet. Enrique helped her up with a hand under her arm. Miguel slept on. With a final look at her son, Luisa left the room. She headed downstairs to the walled-in courtyard between the house and the workshop. Her twin nephews were running around screeching as usual. To one side, in her wheelchair, was _Mamá_ Coco who was nominally watching over the youngsters. It was really only theory more than practice, but today the elderly woman seemed more aware than ever. Finally being allowed to talk about her _papá_ and hear Miguel play that song for her had done wonders for her dementia.

Remembering about that song, Luisa suddenly grew curious. She knew it, of course. Anyone who hadn't grown up under the Rivera music ban did. Luisa and Gloria had spent their adolescence giggling and sighing over all of Ernesto de la Cruz's songs. And yet, _Mamá_ Coco had said her _papá_ used to sing _**Remember Me**_ to her when she was a little girl. That would have been long before de la Cruz was supposed to have created it. And the way Miguel had played it was _not_ like any version of it that de la Cruz had ever done.

She had to ask. So Luisa made her way over to _Mamá_ Coco. " _Hola, Mamá_ Coco."

The old woman smiled in her usual way. "How are you, Luisa?"

Being correctly named surprised Luisa a little. Normal she was confused for _Tía_ Victoria, at least before her pregnancy was noticeable. Once the baby bump started showing she became another Elena. It had happened when she was pregnant with Miguel and Gloria had also been called Elena during all three of her pregnancies.

" _Estoy bien_." Luisa replied. "Can I ask something? Did you teach Miguel to sing _**Remember Me**_ like he did this morning? Do you remember ever doing that?"

"Oh, no." _Mamá_ Coco shook her head slowly. "Music isn't allowed, you know. _Mamá_ doesn't allow it." She blinked a few times and corrected herself. "Elena doesn't allow it. I've missed hearing my song done properly. The way _Papá_ always did it."

"And your _papá_ , did he write the song?" Luisa asked carefully. She couldn't believe she even dared to ask such a question. While it may not answer how Miguel learned this version, it had the potential to change everything people knew about Señor de la Cruz.

 _Mamá_ Coco smiled that very happy smile she had given Miguel that morning. " _Sí_. He did. It was our special song." The smile faded and the old woman knit her brows together thoughtfully. "I always wondered how he got it, why he changed it."

Luisa patted her shoulder and left her. As she went back inside, she had the feeling that it wasn't her _papá_ that _Mamá_ Coco meant when she had said that last part. There was only one other 'he' she could have meant then. And that could only mean what? That Ernesto de la Cruz hadn't _actually_ written his most famous song? And if he didn't write that one, had he written _any_ of his songs? Had they all been written by _Mamá_ Coco's _papá_?

She made up some dinner for Enrique and herself. She didn't think Miguel would be awake yet, considering that he had slept all day so far. Luisa carried the tray upstairs, but when she opened the door to Miguel's room, Enrique was also sitting on the edge of the bed. He wasn't quite in the same spot she had taken though.

And Miguel was clinging tightly to him. Enrique was rubbing his back and murmuring softly. Luisa put the tray on the dresser and hurried over. Her husband looked up at her.

"Another nightmare, I think. He was crying out about being 'thrown in'." he explained. There was an almost haunted look in his eyes. He hesitated a moment and then added, "When I tried to wake him… He called me _Papá_ Héctor. Said he was sorry for not listening, that he should have gone back to his family. Then he started talking about stolen songs and thinking he was related to a murderer. He's gone back to sleep, but just before you came in, he said he was proud to be _Papá_ Héctor's family."

" _Papá_ Héctor?" Luisa asked.

"That's the name of _Mamá_ Coco's _papá_. Earlier, after I woke up, I took a moment to read through those letters she had saved. The ones he wrote to her and _Mamá_ Imelda. His name's on them." Enrique looked down at his son. "But how did Miguel know it? He didn't read those letters while _Mamá_ Coco was telling her stories. And he thought that de la Cruz guy was his great-great-grandpa last night."

"I don't think he believes that anymore." Luisa replied as she sat down on the bed on the other side of Miguel. "He fixed the _foto_ and had to have seen that that man wasn't de la Cruz." She also paused for a moment. "When he had a nightmare earlier with me, he confused me with _Mamá_ Imelda. He mentioned that she might have been trying to save his life but was going to ruin it too. That she was taking away the one thing that made him happy. Then when I started singing to him, he said he didn't know she could sing so pretty, he thought she hated music."

Enrique's eyebrows rose. " _Mamá_ Imelda singing? I can hardly imagine that."

Luisa shrugged. "She had to have loved music once to have married a musician." She reminded her husband. "After that he talked about not wanting to pick sides and why couldn't she support him like family should."

Her husband winced, clearly thinking back to the confrontation the night before. "That's it, isn't it? We… none of us were willing to support Miguel's choice. We weren't willing to listen to him and it nearly cost us our son. Oh _míjo_ , I'm so sorry." He bowed his head as he spoke to the sleeping child.

"But we're listening now." Luisa put a comforting hand on Enrique's arm. "We're listening and when he's ready to tell us what happened, we'll believe him. No matter how crazy it may sound, right?"

"Right." Enrique agreed immediately. "I hope he is willing to tell us. I hope it explains why he's dreaming of people he's never met or even knew anything about."

Luisa nodded. "I think we'll learn more than that. Which is good. There should be no more secrets in this family."


	15. Secrets of the Dead

**Title:** Secrets of the Dead

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** I'm so sorry for the long wait since my last post. Life kind of hit me a really hard for a while. Had some major problems with work and then lost motivation to write over the holidays. Anyway, I've seen a couple of stories about this idea that, instead of raging at Héctor right away when Imelda arrives in the Land of the Dead, she actually listens to him and realizes that he had actually died rather than abandoned the family. But of course she has no way to tell the Living family this. So this is my version where she does get that opportunity. This is going to be a two-parter because it started getting really long by the time I realized I wasn't finished it yet.

 **Reviews:** _Ainmals1_ – Thank you! It was actually because of some our talks that made me put Gloria as related to Luisa. I remembered you mentioned that there was a theory they were related because they looked so similar. _Agent Numbah 227_ – Aww, Thanks! _Zeldawolf2000_ – I don't know if I will or not. There is one scene that I'd like to have him retell. _MangaGirl14_ – Thank you! I really do feel that Enrique and Luisa really are good parents; they just made mistakes like all parents do. _Anime100_ – You're welcome. You'll just have to wait and see. _Pamela1967_ – Thank you. I like writing the minor characters' POVs because they aren't as 'fleshed out' as the main characters. I can more easily put in my own ideas of their personalities. _Panic(Guest)_ – Thank you so much. I've been having fun writing all these different ideas and I'm glad you've been enjoying them. _Seth7_ – Thanks! _Xx56_ – Glad you do! _FashionLuver98_ – I will try to!

* * *

When the scanner blared red during her turn, a wave of unpleasant feelings washed over Imelda. Surprise, heartache, fear, anger. She knew, better than any but the agents working the devices, what the red light meant. She had seen another get the red light far too often. She just never thought it would happen to her so soon. There was no reason for her family to forget _her_. It had to be a mistake! So she sent her brothers, who had passed through with no problems, on to alert the rest to what had happened. She then marched to the Department of Family Reunions to find out who had messed up.

"I'm sorry, _Señora_." The clerk said as she cringed from the glare Imelda was focussing on her. It was one of Imelda's best weapons after all, second only to her boot. A look that could rival Death itself. And she had used it effectively in Life and in Death. "But it says here that no one put up your _foto_."

Imelda shot to her feet and jabbed a finger in the woman's face. "My family always _always_ puts up me _foto_. That _devil box_ " and she sneered at the blocky grey cube on the desk, "tells you nothing but _lies_!" She couldn't and wouldn't understand why the cursed things were taken as the voice of God these days. Nothing could be done unless the damn box said so! They were a bane on the family! But Imelda would show it. So she took off her boot and started beating the box as the clerk practically folded her spine in half backwards to avoid getting hit herself.

There was a timid " _Mamá_ Imelda?" from behind her and she whirled about, brandishing her boot at the person who dared to interrupt her meting out justice on the _devil box_. Julio yelped and ducked his head into his ribcage.

Immediately the anger (fear, though she would never admit it) ran out of Imelda to be replaced with relief. Everything can be cleared up now. " _Aye mi familia_! They wouldn't let me cross the bridge! Tell this woman," she glared once more over her shoulder as she put her boot back on, "and her _devil box_ that my _foto_ _ **is**_ on the _ofrenda_."

"Ah well…" Julio fidgeted with his hat as he replied. He was always nervous when facing her. Then again, the whole family was acting nervous at moment. Even Victoria, who wasn't intimidated by Imelda at all usually. "We never actually made it to the _ofrenda_."

"What?" Imelda wasn't sure she had heard her son-in-law correctly. Why would they not make it to the _ofrenda_? It was likely that her brothers had reached the rest before they got there, but wouldn't they check to the _ofrenda_ first before coming back?

"You see… We ran into umm… well…" And as Julio trailed off, he and the others moved apart to let another through.

A boy. A very _familiar_ boy in a red jacket and jeans. A very familiar _Living_ boy. He was looking around the huge room with mingled curiosity and awe. That was until he spotted her. He stared for a moment and then gulped.

Imelda gasped. "Miguel?" Suddenly she realized that _he_ was the reason that the entire Department of Family Reunions was staring at them, rather than because of her attack on the _devil box_.

Miguel cringed and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave, just like a boy who knows he's in trouble but is trying to hide that fact. " _Mamá_ Imelda." He smiled weakly at her in a way that was all too familiar.

She set her hands on her hipbones and narrowed her eyes. "What is going on?" She had the feeling that Miguel's presence in the Land of the Dead had something to do with whatever was keeping her from crossing the bridge.

"You the… Rivera family?" a voice called out before anyone could answer Imelda's question. They all turned to find one of the head clerks, a very short bespectacled man, leaning out of an office doorway.

Behind Imelda, the woman's _devil box_ sputtered and gave a loud pop as it succumbed to the damage Imelda's boot caused.

Moments later Imelda, Miguel, and the rest of the family were gathered in the office to learn exactly what was happening. The clerk wasted no time. "Well! You're cursed!"

"What?!" Miguel exclaimed before any of the rest could. If Imelda still had a beating heart, it would have stopped at that moment. Hadn't her family suffered enough? Why must terrible things keep happening to them? It wasn't fair!

And how did Miguel get cursed anyway?

" _Día de Muertos_ is a night to _give_ to the Dead." The clerk explained, climbing onto his desk t rifle through a stack of papers taller than he was. "You _stole_ from the Dead."

Well, that answered _that_ question.

"But I wasn't stealing the guitar." Miguel protested.

Imelda interrupted. "Guitar?" She had a sinking feeling she knew exactly which guitar the boy could mean.

Miguel ignored her interruption and continued, pleading his case. "It belonged to my great-great-grandpa. He would've wanted me to have it."

Before the clerk or anyone could say anything, Imelda asked "How do _you_ know about that guitar?" No one in their Living family knew that guitar's connection to their family.

Miguel didn't turn to face her. But by the very slight movement of his head, Imelda knew he was rolling his eyes at her. Miguel took something from his pocket, a piece of paper, and showed it to the clerk. "It's right there! In the photo."

Before the clerk could take a closer look, Imelda strode forward and snatched the photograph from Miguel's hand. "You took my _foto_ from the _ofrenda_?" She _knew_ he had had something to do with her being unable to cross the bridge!

Miguel flinched but stood his ground at her abrupt approach. "It was an accident! Dante…" he paused, glancing at the Xolo dog that had followed him (currently choking itself on one of its own legs). When he continued, it was clear Miguel was attempting to hide the fact the dog had anything to do with the incident. "It got knocked over and the frame broke. That's when I saw de la Cruz's guitar."

"De la _Cruz's_ guitar?" Imelda said incredulously. There was a soft gasp from the rest of the family. They knew better than to bring up _that_ name around her. Imelda tasted bitterness as she spat out "That guitar _never_ belonged to that _músico_."

Miguel stared at her in disbelief and opened his mouth to say something, probably that of course it was de la Cruz's guitar because that's all that anyone ever knew. However, a loud sneeze interrupted him.

"AAACHOOOO! I'm sorry, but whose _alebrije_ is that?" The clerk asked, pointing at the dog.

Distracted, Miguel answered "That's just Dante."

"He sure doesn't _look_ like an _alebrije_." Rosita commented, glancing at the colourful flying creature doing loops beyond the office windows.

"Looks just like a plain old dog." Óscar said and Felipe added with a snicker "Or a sausage someone dropped in a barbershop."

The clerk, unlike the family who collectively rolled their eyes at the twins' attempt at humour, ignored the commentary. He set his spectacles back on his skull and said, "Whoever's he is, I am…" and he sneezed again, causing his glasses to fall off once more. "…terribly allergic."

Miguel's face twisted in confusion, clearly trying to figure out how that worked. "But Dante doesn't have any hair."

"And I don't have a nose." The man replied as he used a piece of tape to secure his glasses once more. "Yet, here we are." He sneezed a third time and was pleased that the tape was successful in keeping his spectacles in place.

Imelda wasn't interested in discussing the peculiarities of the Land of the Dead. "None of this explains _how_ we are to send Miguel home."

The clerk blinked as if remembering the immediate issue. "Oh! Well, since it's a family matter. The way to undo a family curse is to get your family's blessing."

Bot Imelda and Miguel looked at him skeptically. Was it really that simple? "That's it?" Miguel asked.

"Get your family's blessing and everything should go back to normal." The clerk confirmed with a nod. Then he pinned the boy with a hard look and pointed at him. "But you got to do it before sunrise."

"What happens at sunrise?" Miguel asked, lifting one hand.

" _¡Hijole!_ Your hand!" Julio exclaimed in surprise.

They all looked. Imelda felt a wash of dizziness at the sight of bones showing through the now translucent skin of Miguel's finger. And the shock was apparently worse for Miguel. He took a couple of panicked gasps as his eyes rolled back in his head. Julio jumped forward to catch the boy as his knees started to give out, standing him up again and giving a couple of light slaps to give Miguel something to focus on.

"Easy there, Miguel. Can't have you fainting on us." He said as he turned the boy to face the clerk again.

"Not to worry." The clerk chuckled, apparently amused by Miguel's reaction. "Your family's here. You can get your blessing right now." He slid out of his chair and came around the desk searching the floor for something, muttering to himself. " _Cempasúchil… cempasúchil…_ Ah!" He glanced up at Rosita and said " _Perdon, Señora_."

Rosita twittered as he plucked a marigold petal that was clinging to the hem of her skirts. Having secured what he was looking for, the man marched over to Imelda. She handed the photograph back to Miguel before taking the petal.

"Now. You look at the Living and say his name." The clerk instructed.

Imelda raised a brow ridge at him but did as she was told. "Miguel."

"Nailed it." The man chuckled and then waved at Miguel. "Now you say _I give you my blessing_."

Again Imelda repeated after him. "I give you my blessing." And in her hand the petal started to glow. She stared at the glowing petal for a moment. "I give you my blessing to go home…" Yes, Miguel needed to go home. Their family couldn't lose another to an unexplained disappearance. "To put my _foto_ back on the _ofrenda_ …" As Miguel nodded absently, staring at the glowing petal with eagerness, Imelda found herself pausing. What was she doing? Miguel _had_ to be sent home, where he belonged. And yet…

Yet here was an opportunity she had been secretly wishing for. For decades. Ever since she arrived in the Land of the Dead herself and learned something she should have realized long before her death. She owed it to… to everyone to take the advantage while she had it.

So she pulled her hand back, taking the petal out of her great-great-grandson's reach, and turned to the clerk. "You said he had until sunrise, correct?"

The man blinked several times and slowly nodded. " _S-sí_ , that's usually how these things go."

That was plenty of time. Sunrise was several hours away and Imelda would only need one, two at most, to do what she needed. Imelda gave a sharp nod and tucked the petal into her apron pocket. Mentally she apologized to her Living relatives for making them wait even longer for Miguel to return to them. "Miguel. You will come with me."

"What?" the boy asked startled. "Why?"

"Because," she told him, taking his arm and leading him through their equally startled and gobsmacked family to the door, "before you go home, there is someone you need to meet. So you can understand what that guitar, _and de la Cruz_ , have cost this family."

* * *

As _Mamá_ Imelda led him out of the Department of Family Reunions, Miguel was very confused. For just a moment he had thought she was going to send him back to the Land of the Living. When she paused in the middle of the blessing, he had feared she was going to add a _no music_ condition to it (he probably _definitely_ would have broken that promise in like two seconds anyway). But instead _Mamá_ Imelda insisted that he go with her to meet 'someone'.

His great-great-grandpa, maybe? Was she taking him to _meet_ Ernesto de la Cruz? He felt excited by the idea but at the same time he remembered that _Mamá_ Imelda had talked about de la Cruz 'costing' their family as well. That was what left him feeling even more confused. If that was the case, then who was she talking about?

The others seemed to know. They had been exchanging looks and whispers too quiet for Miguel to catch. It was like with the adults back home. They were being all secretive. No one was explaining anything. He was twelve! Not a baby anymore.

Once pass the revolving doors of the building that housed the Department of Family Reunions, _Mamá_ Imelda surveyed the crowded street and muttered about the trolleys taking forever. So she put her fingers to her mouth and gave a loud piercing whistle. There was a distant roar as an _alebrije_ took off from a rooftop.

Only as it flew closer could Miguel see just how _huge_ it was. On the whole, it was a giant green jaguar with huge wings, horns, and eagle claws instead of rear feet. Miguel stared with wide eyes as _Mamá_ Imelda went up to it fearlessly to pet its nose.

"This is my spirit guide Pepita, Miguel." She said. "She can carry us. Don't be afraid. You're family and she won't harm you."

Miguel glanced at the others. He wasn't entirely sure about that, judging by _Papá_ Julio's reaction. When the great cat turning its glowing eyes on him, he certainly felt like a tasty mouse. Dante happily trotted up to it and barked as he play-bowed. Pepita stared at this for a moment and then bumped her head against the dog, sending him tumbling end over end. That sort of broke the spell for Miguel. If the creature liked Dante, she couldn't be that bad.

So he climbed up behind _Mamá_ Imelda. Miguel expected that the rest were going to come as well, but then his great-great-grandmother said, "You all might as well go back to visit our family. There is no point in _all_ of us missing out on the holiday."

And some of us should get see _Mamá_." Victoria commented dryly.

Miguel flinched, knowing that by taking the _foto_ with him when he ran off, that he had kept _Mamá_ Imelda from visiting her daughter. However, he didn't expect the sad sigh that escaped from his great-great-grandma. " _Sí_ , some of us should." She patted Pepita's neck and the _alebrije_ spread her wings.

"Wait!" Miguel suddenly called out. "What about Dante?" After all, the Xolo _had_ followed him into the Land of the Dead. Dante was his friend and Miguel didn't want to think about what could happen to him if he was left behind.

 _Mamá_ Imelda gave another sigh, this time sounding exasperated, but said "We'll take the dog with us. Óscar, Felipe."

The twins lifted the dog, who slobbered all over _Tío_ Felipe's skull, onto Pepita's back. Miguel helped as best he could, while thinking it would have been much easier if Dante had hair or even a proper collar. Finally the dog was in position and Pepita could take off.

Flying through the Land of the Dead was both the most thrilling and most terrifying thing all at the same time. They were so high up they could see just about _everything_ , but at the same time they were so high up that Miguel could see just how far he would go if he fell off. Pepita seemed to like flying in loops and spirals which meant Miguel had to hold on tight to both her and to Dante. His dog was not fazed at all by any of this, sitting with his usual goofy expression, mouth open and tongue flapping in the wind.

Soon they were spiralling down to a land in a quiet neighbourhood. Quiet likely because of the fact that most of the Dead were off visiting family in the Living World. Though there were also quite a number that he had seen on the streets as they flew over. The courtyard Pepita landed in was familiar. Very familiar in fact. It was identical to the courtyard back home, right down to the old well and the cracks in the whitewashed stucco. As he slid to the ground, Miguel glanced at the replica of the workshop with a sinking feeling in his gut. It seemed that the family motto of _"Riveras are shoemakers through and through"_ was as true after Death as in Life. And it made him all the more determined to be a musician with or without his family's support.

 _Mamá_ Imelda saw where he was looking and said simply "The Dead need shoes just as the Living do." She beckoned him to follow her into the house. Inside, Miguel got yet another shock of his life in a night already full of them.

 _Music_.

There was music playing softly somewhere in the house. Nothing Miguel recognized, though truthfully he had only ever listened to de la Cruz songs whenever he could. This was a sad song, the words haunting.

… _ **Llorona de azul celeste… Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona… No dejaré de quererte**_ **…**

He glanced at _Mamá_ Imelda, yet she seemed unfazed by the music. Or at least she wasn't angry like _Abuelita_ usually was. In fact she seemed sad, her eyes distant. So Miguel dared to ask a question. "I thought you _hated_ music?"

His great-great-grandma looked at him, paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, I _loved_ it. This was my favourite song, in fact. I'll always remember what it was like when my husband would play and I would sing… When nothing else mattered." Her expression had gone strangely wishful for a moment before focusing back on him. "I know the story you've always been told. What _I've_ always told of what happened, but there's more to it, _mijo_. Far more."

Miguel wasn't sure what to make of that as he followed _Mamá_ Imelda up the stairs. The music got louder, not a great deal so, but enough to guess they were going towards it. At the end of the hall she opened a door and went inside.

When Miguel reached to door, he saw _Mamá_ Imelda at one of those old-fashioned record players, the ones with the fancy horn speaker. She turned it off, more to make the room quiet than because she didn't want to hear it. Then she went over to the bed.

That's when he noticed the other skeleton in the room, laying on the bed. Apparently he had dozed off while listening to the music and… looking through a photo album? He was dressed in clothing not unlike what _Tíos_ Óscar and Felipe wore, minus the leather aprons. He looked like he might be tall, though it was hard to tell, with bright colourful facial markings, messy hair, and a goatee. And Miguel couldn't place him among the other _fotos_ from the _ofrenda_.

There was one significant difference between this skeleton and the others he had seen. It was hard to miss once _Mamá_ Imelda sat next to him and reached out to shake his shoulder. Unlike her pristine white bones, his were a dingy grey-yellow.

"Wake up, _mi amor_ , wake up." _Mamá_ Imelda said gently. Miguel's mouth dropped open at the pet name.

The man made a noise, not unlike Miguel did when his _mamá_ woke him for school, and blinked open his eyes. He smiled at _Mamá_ Imelda. " _Buenos días_. I must have fallen asleep. How was… wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…" he glanced towards the window for a second and then back at _Mamá_ Imelda as he sat up. "It's still dark. What are you doing back before sunrise?"

"There was a slight problem. I couldn't cross the bridge." She replied. A heartbroken look crossed the man's skull and he opened his mouth to say something only for _Mamá_ Imelda to wave whatever he was going to say aside. " _No es nada_. It will be sorted out shortly. But first, there is someone who needs to meet you." She beckoned for Miguel to come over. "Miguel, _this_ is your great-great-grandpa, my husband Héctor Rivera. Héctor, this is Miguel, our great-great-grandson, Enrique's and Luisa's boy."

Héctor blinked at him for a second and then flung himself back against the headboard of the bed. "He's _ALIVE_!" he cried in shock, eyes comically wide as he pointed a finger at Miguel.

 _Mamá_ Imelda rolled her eyes. "Of course he's alive, _idiota_. He got himself cursed trying to steal your guitar."

"My guitar?" Héctor asked at the same time Miguel protested "I _wasn't_ _ **stealing**_ the guitar!"

Honestly! Why was everyone hung up on _that_?

His protest caught the man's attention and he looked back at Miguel. A grin split his face, revealing a gold tooth, and he said "Ah… I see. The fine art of borrowing without asking is what you mean, I think." He turned back to _Mamá_ Imelda and asked rather cheerfully "I'm getting blamed for this, aren't I?"

 _Mamá_ Imelda folded her arms and looked at him sardonically. "Well, he certainly doesn't get it from _me_."

"So you're the guy in the _foto_?" Miguel asked incredulously. He pulled the photograph from his pocket, looked at it and then showed it to Héctor. "I thought… Why do _you_ have Ernesto de la Cruz's guitar?"

"I _told_ you, Miguel. That guitar never belonged to that _músico_." _Mamá_ Imelda said.

"She's right. _Mi vida_ gave that guitar to me on our first anniversary." Héctor put in, taking _Mamá_ Imelda's hand and smiling in a besotted fashion. "The second most beautiful thing she gave me after Coco. Ernesto," and he said the name with scorn, "took it after I died. It and my songs, using both to make himself famous."

Miguel could hardly believe _that_ , family or not. "But… That's impossible. Everyone knows de la Cruz wrote all his own songs. He's the greatest musician of all time!"

Héctor snorted. " _Greatest Eyebrows of all time_ maybe, but his music?" And he moved his hand back and forth in a 'so-so' gesture.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Miguel scoffed.

But _Mamá_ Imelda said "But he does, Miguel. _That man_ couldn't write his way out of a wet paper back to save his life!" There was clear distain and dislike in her voice.

"Harsh. But true." Héctor admitted with a nod and a smile for his wife. "We grew up together. We were practically brothers, Ernesto and I. I taught him everything he knows about the guitar."

"He's the one that convinced you to go on that fool tour." _Mamá_ Imelda added. There was bitterness to that statement, but not nearly as much as Miguel expected.

Héctor flinched and bowed his head. "I should have never listened to him. That stupid tour ruined everything." He sighed, clenching his hands into fists. "We'd only been on the road for a few months and I was already homesick. I couldn't stand being away from Imelda and Coco any longer. So I packed up my things, my songbook, and bought a train ticket home. Ernesto wasn't happy, but he came around. He even proposed a toast to our friendship before walking me to the train station. That's when it happened." _Mamá_ Imelda covered his hand with hers when he paused. Héctor smiled a little at her and continued. "I must have eaten something that had gone bad and ended up with food poisoning. Suddenly there was a pain in my stomach and I collapsed. It happened so fast that the next thing I knew, I woke up… dead."

"And Ernesto…" Again _Mamá_ Imelda's voice was hard. "took the guitar, the songs, and never bothered to tell your _familia_ what happened to you. We could have mourned you, put your _foto_ on the _ofrenda_ , passed on your story. Instead he let me think the worst of you and I…" she broke off what she was saying, turning abruptly away from both of them.

Héctor pulled her back and into a hug, tucking her head under his chin. "Imelda… We've been over this. I don't blame you for what you did. You did what you had to do to support the family. _I_ was the one that left you alone with a child to raise. The fact you ever forgave me for that is a blessing I count every day since you arrived here. _Ernesto_ is the one _I_ blame." He looked at Miguel. "Some friend, huh? Couldn't even keep his promise to move Heaven and Earth for his _amigo_."

Miguel, who was still struggling to understand all that his great-great-grandparents were telling him, was suddenly caught by that phrase. " _Heaven and Earth_? Like in the movie?"


	16. Secrets Revealed

**Title:** Secrets Revealed

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** So here is part two of Secrets of the Dead. And once more, there might be a third part since I couldn't get to the point I wanted this idea to go in this chapter. I don't know how long it will take to get _that_ out since another idea had taken over my brain. And I'm debating whether or not the new idea will be posted here or as a separate story.

 **Reviews:** _MangaGirl14_ – We'll see. _Agent Numbah 227_ – I have too but I also figure that even though things might happen differently in the Land of the Dead, that didn't mean things would change in the Land of the Living. _Pamela1967_ – Thank you. And things have gotten better. _Ainmals1_ – I'm glad. I liked the idea too. I hope you're enjoying that new series. _Anime100_ – Guess you'll have to read to find out! :D _Sapphire One_ – Your idea is interesting. I don't know if I'll write it, but about the only thing I would add would be the fact that if Imelda died, Héctor would still probably go home because he wouldn't leave Coco in the care of the twins no matter what. Which of course ruin Ernesto's plans too. _Panic_ – Aww, thanks! And I did like the idea that even if they knew Héctor had died they still didn't know the real cause until Miguel figured it out. And yes, things have gotten better irl. _Luiz4200_ \- :D Glad you like it! _Eris_ – Thank you! These have been so much fun to write.

* * *

 _Out of the mouths of_ _ **niños**_. Héctor was sure that moment would always be associated with that phrase. The one clue he and Imelda never saw. And it took a child to figure it out.

"Movie? What movie, Miguel?" Héctor asked, looking curiously at his great-great-grandson. Once he got over the shock of seeing an actual Living person (something he hadn't been able to see beyond family pictures in ninety-six years) in the Land of the Dead, Héctor was beyond glad for the opportunity to meet a member of his Living family. He could wish it hadn't been due to a curse, however.

From what Imelda and the others had told him of Miguel over the years, the boy was a lot like him. Okay, he had never tried to steal a guitar from a grave, but then again Héctor had never lived under the Rivera music ban. He was the reason _for_ the ban after all.

Miguel took a hold of one wrist. "The de la Cruz movie _El Camino a Casa_." He looked back and forth between the both of them. "It's _Don_ Hidalgo's toast."

Well, that explained absolutely nothing. Neither Héctor nor Imelda had had any reason (or desire) to see any of Ernesto's films. Not when alive (in Imelda's case) or in Death (in Héctor's). They exchanged looks and then Imelda said "We're talking about real like, Miguel. Not some movie."

"But it's in there. I _know_ it is." Miguel insisted. " _Don_ Hidalgo, he's the bad guy but he's friends with Ernesto de la Cruz's character. They have an argument but seem to make up. And then _Don_ Hidalgo says," and Miguel cleared his throat, deepening his voice and lifting an imaginary glass, " _This calls for a toast. To our friendship. I would move Heaven and Earth for you,_ _ **mi amigo**_ _._ _ **¡Salud!**_ " Then Miguel dropped the act. "But in the movie, _Don_ Hidalgo… poisons the drink."

Héctor's breath caught in a non-existent throat. Those words. That toast. He didn't even hear Imelda start to chide Miguel for confusing a movie with reality. Instead he was thrown back to that fateful night ninety-six years before.

This time, however, it was like he was an outside observer rather than an active participant. And because of that detachment, he was able to see things he never noticed at the time.

" _You want to leave_ _ **now**_ _?! When we're_ _ **this**_ _close to achieving our dream?" Ernesto's frustration was evident. It always was whenever Héctor brought up the notion of going home. While this tour had started out as the first step to achieving that childhood dream of theirs, all it had done for Héctor was show him that his priorities (at least) had changed. He had started to realize that his family needed to come first._

 _That's why it had been almost too easy for Héctor to reply "This was your dream. You'll manage."_

 _Ernesto, on the other hand, never seemed to understand that. Maybe it was the fact he wasn't married or a father. For him, music and this tour was_ _ **everything**_ _. Preforming was what he was meant to do, but that was all he was good at, really. And so he had grabbed onto Héctor's suitcase with no little force. "I_ _ **can't**_ _do it without your_ _ **songs**_ _, Héctor."_

 _Héctor had been startled and, to be honest looking back, alarmed by his friend's actions. He had buried that alarm so deep, he had forgotten about it. He had had no reason to be afraid of Ernesto at the time, after all. They were best friends._ _ **Amigos**_ _. Still some of that had come out in his voice as he answered "I'm going home, Ernesto. Hate me if you want, but my mind is made up." And he had had to jerk his bag out of Ernesto's grip with more force than he liked to think about._

 _He had started to turn towards the door, so he had missed it at the time. But remembering now, he could clearly see the flash of absolute rage that crossed his friend's face. A rage that was quickly transformed into a congenial smile. Seeing that, remembering that transformation chilled Héctor to his marrow._

" _Oh, I could never hate you…" Ernesto had practically purred the words. "If you must go, I'm sending you off with a toast."_

 _Héctor could remember pausing in the doorway of their room. He could remember wondering at Ernesto's change of heart and being relieved that his leaving wasn't going to ruin their friendship. And he could remember deciding that one little drink wouldn't hurt._

 _Oh, how wrong he had been._

 _At the time, he had missed the moment that his so-called friend had poured the shots of_ _ **tequila**_ _. Had missed him adding a little extra to one of the glasses._

 _And just as his great-great-grandson would act out for him ninety-six years later, Ernesto said "To our friendship! I would move Heaven and Earth for you,_ _ **mi amigo**_ _._ _ **¡Salud!**_ _"_

 _Héctor had taken the offered glass and drank without any concern. There had been no reason for him to have suspected anything. If he had, he might have noticed the hard calculating look Ernesto was giving him as they drank the toast. It was_ _ **not**_ _anything like a look a friend would give another. But that of a cold-hearted…_

Héctor blinked, coming abruptly back to the present with a gasp like that of a drowning victim. Hardly a sound, but enough to catch Imelda's and Miguel's attention. "That… that night, Imelda. The night I…" his words were soft as his mind still reeled. "All this time… I always thought it was just bad luck, but…" He stared down at his hands as he trailed off, watching as he curled them into fists. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. All this time! "I didn't die because of something I _ate_. It was because of something I…"

"…Because of something you _drank_." Imelda finished, sounding almost as betrayed as Héctor felt. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Imelda's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No wonder he never _told_ us! That _hijo de puta_!"

Suddenly her boot was in her hand and thrown against the far wall hard enough to leave a dent. Héctor and Miguel both jumped, probably for the same reason. And the stream of curses that left his wife's mouth as she stalked over to pick up that boot normally would have left him grinning proudly (People always thought _he_ was the creative one when it came to words). This time, however…

"Imelda…" he quietly protested, knowing how easily she might turn on him, "there is a child present."

Imelda either ignored him or, honestly, didn't hear him through her fury.

Miguel, who was leaning a little closer to him and away from his great-great-grandmother, gave him an incredulous look. As is to say _you just found out you were murdered by the guy I've been idolizing all my life and you're worried about her language?_

Héctor rolled his eyes. So sue him. He'd been dead for almost a hundred years. That's a long time between his death and the present. A long time to come to terms with it, so to speak. Though this new realization changed everything he thought he knew about it, that same interval was still there. Besides Héctor had always been one to internalize negative emotions, not show them. Joy, amusement, love, those he showed openly as if he wore his heart on his sleeve. Hurt, anger, hate, he kept those hidden from all he could.

And he was angry, hurt, hateful over this betrayal. If Ernesto was standing before him at that moment, Héctor wasn't sure that he _wouldn't_ do worse than throw a shoe at a wall. His _best friend_ had poisoned him! All for a handful of songs? Because Héctor had something more important in his life than becoming famous? How long had that been festering in his friend? When had Ernesto changed so much that he would value fame over his brother in all but blood? Just during that tour or was it before then? Had it started when Coco was born? When Héctor and Imelda married? When they were both children growing up together?

Héctor probably would never get an answer to any of that. Ernesto hadn't allowed Héctor near him in all the time they had been dead. Héctor had _tried_ to visit at first, only to be turned away (sometimes violently) by the musician's security detail. Imelda had even tried after her death, and learning when her husband had died, with no better success. No authority would help either, since Ernesto was so famous and well loved.

It had hurt then, the idea that their friendship had meant so little to Ernesto. This? This redoubled the hurt. It made him so angry at Ernesto for ruining his life and death. And taking credit for his songs? Taking _Coco's_ song and turning it into the exact opposite of what it was meant to be? Héctor hated him for that too.

What was even worse was that there was probably nothing they could do to bring justice on Ernesto. It had happened so long ago and Héctor had believed for so long that his death was accidental. It would be their word against Ernesto's and who would believe them? It's not like Ernesto would ever confess to having done anything wrong.

Then to make matters far worse, a sickeningly familiar shudder passed through him. A shimmer of gold lit up the room for a brief moment as light flared from Héctor's bones, followed by a sharp pins-and-needles feeling. Like when a limb falls asleep. He fell back onto the pillows with a choked off cry.

 _Not now… Too soon… Not yet…_ he thought desperately. Oh, he knew what this was. He had been in the Land of the Dead long enough and had spent enough time among those in similar situations as himself, with no _fotos_ on any _ofrendas_. If Imelda had turned him away instead of listening to him the day she died, he would have likely been living among them in Shanty town. He _had_ been living there before he moved back in with her.

" _Pa-papá_ Héctor?!" Miguel exclaimed, which was enough to break Imelda away from her ranting.

In an instant she was beside him, holding him against her as gently as she would cup a fragile baby bird. A part of him was thankful she was there, that he wouldn't go through this alone. But another had hoped for the opposite; that he wouldn't have to put her through this. He hated being the cause of any kind of grief to his lovely brave wife.

Héctor knew Imelda was going to blame herself for what was happening. He didn't want _that_ because Héctor _never_ blamed Imelda.

* * *

Miguel watched as _Mamá_ Imelda held _Papá_ Héctor close. He had been a little impressed by some of the things she had been saying, though he didn't think he would ever be brave enough to repeat any of it. Especially in his _Abuelita's_ hearing. Some of it he wasn't sure was physically possible!

He also _really_ hoped he never made _Mamá_ Imelda that angry at him. And he realized it must have been a miracle that _Papá_ Héctor had survived that first meeting with her after she died.

But that flew right out of his head when his great-great-grandpa suddenly convulsed. It was so unexpected; Miguel was left with nothing but an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not sure if he should even dare to, he asked "Wh-what is it? What's happening?"

"He's being Forgotten." _Mamá_ Imelda said in a choked voice. "It's Coco. She's Forgetting him." She paused and slowly met Miguel's eyes. _Mamá_ Imelda expression was a mix of guilt and sadness. "This is what happens when there is no one left in the Living World who remembers you, Miguel. You disappear from this one. It's called the Final Death."

"Disappear?" Miguel couldn't stop from asking as the uneasy feeling grew worse. "Where will he go?"

 _Mamá_ Imelda just shook her head and smoothed Héctor's hair back gently. "No one knows."

That didn't seem fair. All right, no one alive knew for sure that they would end up in the Land of the Dead after they died, but it wasn't right that someone could just disappear from here as well if no one remembered them. And his own angry words to his family before running off took on a whole new meaning just then too.

Still, Miguel got an idea and he eagerly shared it. " _I've_ met him, though. _I_ can remember _Papá_ Héctor when I go back!"

It was _Papá_ Héctor who answered, wearily opening his eyes. He suddenly looked so very exhausted and brittle. "It doesn't work like that, _chamaco_. Our memories… They have to be passed down by those who knew us in life. In the stories they tell about us." He sighed, a sound that seemed too big for his thin frame. "And Coco had never passed on my stories."

"I never allowed them to be passed on." _Mamá_ Imelda said. "Maybe I was right to be angry at you, Héctor. But even if you had abandoned us like I thought, I never truly wanted _this_."

"I know you didn't _mi amor_." He replied as she slowly sat up. He kissed her forehead, cupping her cheekbone with one hand. "That's why I have never blamed you."

Miguel stood there watching them quietly. He was struck by how in love his great-great-grandparents were. Like really _In Love_. It wasn't a simple fact like the love he had for his family (and they had for him, really). And it wasn't at all like the gross kissy stuff he saw in movies. This was… this was like the One True Love you read about in fairy tales. The kind that was supposed to end with _And they lived Happily Ever After_.

Only that wasn't what _Mamá_ Imelda and _Papá_ Héctor got. Instead there was an all too early death by murder and decades of misunderstanding. And only after _Mamá_ Imelda died were they able to be together again. But now _Mamá_ Imelda was losing her husband all over again.

Miguel wanted to do _something_ to fix it, but what? He was just a kid after all. What could he do?

 _Papá_ Héctor seemed to suddenly remember Miguel's presence. "Not exactly the best family reunion, huh? I guess I'm a pretty sorry excuse for a great-great-grandpa."

But Miguel shook his head emphatically. "Considering I started tonight thinking I was related to a murderer, I'd say you're a total upgrade." Both great-great-grandparents gave him unimpressed looks ( _Mamá_ Imelda even started looking offended that Miguel ever considered that she had married Ernesto). Miguel shuffled his feet and continued. "All my life, I've never quite fit in with the rest of the family. That there was something that made me different. And I never understood where it came from. But now I do." He smiled shyly at _Papá_ Héctor, who looked stunned. "I'm proud that we're family, _Papá_ Héctor. I just wish," and the smile dropped, "there was something I could do to help. It's not fair. De la Crus stole your songs, your guitar, everything. It should be _you_ the world remembers, not _him_."

"I don't care if the _world_ remembers me," _Papá_ Héctor replied, "As long as my family did. Family is more important than anything. The only thing I could wish for would be to see Coco one last time."

 _Mamá_ Imelda smiled as if suddenly remembering something. "Actually, that's sort of the reason I brought Miguel to meet you. You still have that photo, right?"

" _Sí_." _Papá_ Héctor nodded, looking as confused as Miguel was as to where she was going with this. He reached into a drawer of the little table on his side of the bed and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to _Mamá_ Imelda who passed it on to Miguel.

He looked at it and then back at _Papá_ Héctor. "This is you?" It wasn't that he _didn't_ believe it was. It was just strange to finally have a face to go with the figure in the family photograph. And that face wasn't entirely unfamiliar either. The ears were Abel's, the nose like both _Abuelita_ and _Papá_ , and even though this was only a black and white picture, the eyes were exactly like _Mamá_ Coco's.

" _Muy guapo_ , huh?" _Papá_ Héctor gave a grin that matched the one in the photo. _Mamá_ Imelda rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his arm.

Miguel looked at the photo again. "So… _Mamá_ Imelda gives me her blessing… and I put up both _fotos_ when I get back!" His voice lifted as he grinned, understanding _Mamá_ Imelda's plan.

She nodded with a pleased smile of her own. _Papá_ Hector blinked and looked at her. "You think it might work?"

"It's a more sensible plan than any of yours have been." She retorted. There was a light hint of teasing in her tone. _Papá_ Héctor scoffed dramatically as she added to Miguel "His last attempt to sneak across the bridge involved him dressed up as Frida Kahlo."

"That should have worked." _Papá_ Héctor insisted with a pout. "It's not my fault they had brought in those blinky-thingys by then. Besides, Frida thought I pulled her off perfectly."

"She would."

That was maybe more than Miguel wanted to know about his great-great-grandpa. And it was weird to hear them talk so casually about such a famous artist as Frida Kahlo as if she was a family friend. He almost wished he had the chance to meet her. Maybe one day he would, but hopefully not for a long _long_ time.

He cleared his throat. " _Mamá_ Imelda? I'm ready for your blessing now."

"Right." She pulled the marigold petal from her apron pocket and held it up. "Miguel. I give you my blessing. To go home, to put up both our _fotos_ , and…"

Miguel bowed his head with a sinking stomach. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to add, so he filled in the empty space in a resigned tone. "Never play music again."

But _Mamá_ Imelda smiled as she glanced at _Papá_ Héctor. " _Aye, mijo_ , I should never have started the music ban. It was a mistake and I try not to repeat my mistakes. Just never forget how much your family loves you."

Miguel's head shot up at her words and a grin split his face. He had permission to play music! _**Mamá**_ _Imelda's_ permission! He was so happy. He flung himself across the bed and wrapped his arms around her tightly. There was a pause and then her bone arms came up to return the hug. A moment later, another hand came to rest on top of Miguel's head. When he looked up, he saw _Papá_ Héctor giving him a small smile.

It was equal parts proud and sad.

"Time to go home, _chamaco_." He said and Miguel understood what wasn't being said as well. _Papá_ Héctor wanted him to do the one thing he was never able to do. And in a way, he was saying goodbye. Like they would never see each other again. Miguel knew that was more than possible. He _knew_ that his great-great-grandpa was being Forgotten. That if _Mamá_ Coco didn't pass on his stories to _someone_ before she forgot them, _Papá_ Héctor _would_ be gone.

Miguel decided he couldn't let that happen. So he pulled away from _Mamá_ Imelda and nodded. "I will." He said, meeting _Papá_ Héctor's eyes. "And I won't let _Mamá_ Coco forget you. I _promise_."

He didn't wait to see either of their reactions. Miguel just snatched the glowing petal from _Mamá_ Imelda's hand. There was a flash of light and a swirl of petals that caused him to close his eyes. He felt… something he couldn't quite describe take hold of him. When Miguel could see again, he was standing inside the crypt of Ernesto de la Cruz once more.

He was back in the Land of the Living. A quick check of his hand showed no bones visible through his skin and a careful peek out of one of the fancy windows proved he couldn't see any skeletons. Miguel couldn't help the relieved giggle that escaped him. The curse was broken! And he still had _Papá_ Héctor's photo! Now he just needed to get it and _Mamá_ Imelda's back on the _ofrenda_ so they could cross over.

He glanced at the white guitar hanging on the wall again. Miguel itched to take it again. It was _Papá_ Héctor's guitar and it didn't belong in his murderer's tomb. But it was still _Día de los Muertos_ and he had a hunch that he might end up right back in the Land of the Dead if he tried. _Mamá_ Imelda wouldn't be impressed by _that._ Even if that didn't happen, there were still too many people in the cemetery that would see him leaving with it.

"You murdered my great-great-grandpa." He said quietly as he brought his eyes up to the portrait hanging above the guitar. "You murdered him and stole his guitar and his songs. I can't take the guitar now, but I'll find a way to prove what you did, _Señor_ de la Cruz. And I'll find a way to bring his guitar back to where it belongs. With _his_ family."

Carefully Miguel slipped out the window again. He pulled the hood of his jacket up and made his way out of the cemetery. As he walked home, keeping an eye out for anyone looking from him, Miguel thought about how he was going to get the _fotos_ on the _ofrenda_ as soon as possible. He knew the moment any of his family saw him, there would be questions and lectures about his running off. And if _Abuelita_ saw _Papá_ Héctor's photo, she would want to know who he was and why Miguel wanted to put his _foto_ up.

He supposed he could hide it on the _ofrenda_ somehow. Did it have to be visible to count? Miguel didn't know and he couldn't afford to screw this up. _Papá_ Héctor was counting on him. But the only other option was to put it on the little _ofrenda_ Miguel had made in the attic. _That_ felt all kinds of wrong though, to put _Papá_ Héctor's photo on an _ofrenda_ made for Ernesto de la Cruz (even if part of it had been wrecked earlier in the evening).

First, he had to sneak in without being spotted. That was easier said than done. As Miguel realized when he reached his street. He had to duck behind some trash cans as the front gate swung open and _Papá, Tío_ Berto, and Abel left.

As they passed Miguel's hiding place, _Papá_ was saying "You two go look around the school I'm going to check the plaza again."

"But you and _Tía_ Luisa checked there already." Abel pointed out.

"And I'm checking again! I'll check a hundred times until I find Miguel." _Papá_ snapped. "I'd even let him have _music_ so long as I don't lose my son!"

 _Tío_ Berto put a hand on his shoulder. "You won't lose him, Enrique. We'll find him."

As they left, Miguel felt a surge of guilt for making his parents worry so much. _Mamá_ Imelda was right about his family loving him. He had been so upset about the destruction of his cobbled-together guitar that he had run away without thinking. Music might be the only thing that made him happy, but he didn't want to choose between it and family. Maybe there was a way to balance both.

He'd have to think about that later.

Using the tree that grew outside to scale the wall, Miguel got onto the roof of the workshop. He checked the yard below and found it empty at the moment. He could hear talking from the kitchen door so he would have to be quick. He did wonder briefly if the rest of his dead relatives were watching him as he made his way off the roof and dashed across the yard to the _ofrenda_ room.

Since the frame for _Mamá_ Imelda's _foto_ had been broken and there wasn't one for _Papá_ Héctor's, Miguel used a couple of candles (which he made sure to blow out) to prop up the photographs among the rest of the family's. He felt a little bad that there weren't any offerings he could leave for _Papá_ Héctor, but maybe the others would share theirs?

But at least his tasks were done. He wouldn't forget that his family loves him, he was home, and the _fotos_ were on the _ofrenda_. Now he just needed to fulfill his promise to _Papá_ Héctor by helping _Mamá_ Coco remember her _papá_. And get her to tell him the stories so _he_ could remember them for her and…

"Miguel! Where have you been?!"

Miguel jumped and whirled around to find _Abuelita_ , _Mamá,_ his _tías_ , and Rosa all standing in the doorway.


	17. Under the Mistletoe

**Title:** Under the Mistletoe

 **Rating:** K+

 **Warnings:** none

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

 **Author Notes:** I LIVE! I am sorry that I've pretty much vanished for so long. I don't really have an excuse except that I kinda of ran out of motivation. BUT! I finally decided to try to get back into it. Mostly because I wanted to get this chapter finished and get it done before Christmas. I've been sitting on it for over a year, intending to get it out last year, but hadn't finished it until late last night. Anyway, here it is.

 **Reviews:** _Ainmals1_ – Thank you! I do promise that I will try to get another chapter out eventually. _Toons Girl_ \- Thank you. It was fun to write Imelda and try to get her takes on the events of the movie. And You'll just have to wait and see. _Angelwings2002_ – Aww, thank you so much. _Guest(s) ((unnamed, Hailey, fangirl 321,Rose Girl, Bobbie, Abby Joe, Rebecca Jones, Kim Boltin, Addie, Ally Joze, Gabby, Kristina Elson, Betty, Sammy))_ – You all asked me for nearly the same thing and in the same way. It was a little weird to see that. LOL. Like I said in my other story, I have an idea but it might be awhile before it gets posted. _DTLA1992_ – I'm glad you've enjoyed all of this! _Toons Girl(again)_ – I did think that was an interesting idea. I did have plans to continue that story line, I just have to get off my but to complete it.

* * *

"Imelda! _¡Mi amiga! ¿Cómo estás?_ You are looking lovely on this fine day. How's the shoe business going?"

"Héctor…" Imelda glared at the gangly young man who had just waltzed into her apartment. " _¿Que estás hacienda?_ I've told you about coming in here without permission!"

Normally she didn't mind getting a visit from her downstairs neighbour. He had literally bumped into her the day she moved in, knocking a couple of boxes out of her grip. They only had clothing, not anything breakable, but Imelda still rightfully sounded off on him while he tried to apologize and offer to help. The 'tirade' (which she later learned was what his annoying friend Ernesto had termed it) certainly wasn't an auspicious beginning.

They were… not exactly friends now, but perhaps a little more than acquaintances. Imelda found herself liking the energetic (and rather accident prone) young music teacher well enough, but not so much to tolerate him coming into _her_ apartment without so much as a knock on the door Especially when she was busy with new designs.

As usual, Héctor didn't seem at all fazed by her un-welcome. He draped himself across the bar counter that doubled as Imelda's table where she was working. "That I need to knock first. Which I did. You didn't answer, but I knew you were home anyway. Besides, you left the door unlocked." He gave a teasing smirk she wanted nothing more than to smack off him.

Imelda fought to not roll her eyes. Okay, she did sometimes forget that she no longer lived back in her small town of Santa Cecilia. Hardly anyone locked their doors there. And she had been focused on her new designs and really hadn't heard the knocking. That still didn't give him the right to barge into her apartment. And she told him exactly that. "So, what is it you want?"

"Who said I wanted anything?" he replied just a hair too fast. Imelda didn't believe him for a second. The grin faltered for a moment at the long look she gave him. He then tried to chuckle. "Can't a guy visit a friend without needing something?"

Imelda raised an eyebrow. That was a lie and they both knew it. And if she pushed, he would apologize for it. Héctor had a bit of a habit for asking favors for crazy ideas. The favors usually involved asking for help with his classes, field trips, or concerts. "Try again, Héctor."

He deflated, realizing she had seen right through the act. "Okay, I do need a _little_ favor. It's kinda silly, really. Important! But silly. I wouldn't even ask it of you, but I don't know anyone else and… Well, you see, the thing is… The staff _Navidad_ party is coming up. It's not going to be anything huge. Well, it _is_ , because it's kinda for the whole district. There's going to be music and dancing and some pretty good food. I heard they got that fancy catering company that…"

"The point! Get to the point!"

There was a moment of silence and then Héctor's next words came out in a rush. "Ineedyoutopretendtobemy _novia_."

Imelda blinked. Did he just say what? "Mind repeating that a little slower than the speed of light?"

Héctor wouldn't meet her eyes and his ears were starting to turn pink. "I need you to pretend to be my…"

"Are you insane?!" she cut him off. "You're joking. This is a joke." He didn't reply, just curled his lanky form in on himself as the pink ears turned redder. "Why on earth would you even _ask_ that?"

"Do you want to short answer or the long one?" he mumbled without looking at her.

"I want an explanation, Rivera."

He winced, holding his wrist. After a moment more, he began to explain. And it was the dumbest craziest thing she ever heard. Months ago, a rumor had sprung up at his school that Héctor was in a relationship and instead of telling the truth, his _idiota_ friend convinced him to just go along with it. Why they thought that was a good idea, she could _not_ fathom. And so, after months of this charade, when this _navidad_ party came up, Héctor had stupidly said he was going to bring this non-existent girlfriend as his date.

And therein lay the crux of the favor.

Imelda stared at him and then narrowed her eyes. "Get out."

His head jerked up. "Please, Imelda. _Por favor_. It's just one night and I don't have anyone else to ask. I'll do whatever you want. I'll… I'll clean your apartment. I'll look after Pepita when you go home for holidays!" Imelda's cat growled at him from her perch on the back of the sofa where she had been watching. Pepita didn't like Héctor one bit and Héctor was more than a little afraid of her. "We could even pretend to break up after the party and you can hit me with your shoe!"

"I'm about to hit you with my shoe right now! Get out!" To make good on her threat, Imelda reached down to pull off one of her shoes. Héctor yelped and scrambled for the door. She stalked after him, shoe in hand. "And stay out!" she shouted the second he was across the threshold, before slamming the door shut and locking it. For a moment she expected to hear him knocking and trying to convince her of his mad scheme, but there was silence from the other side of the door.

* * *

"BWAHAHAHAH…"

"Shut up."

"…HAHAHAHAHAHA…"

"It's not funny!"

"…HAHAHAHAHA…"

"Ernesto! You are not helping!" Héctor scowled as his friend's laughter finally started to die down. He really shouldn't have been surprised at Ernesto's reaction. If it had happened to anyone else, Héctor might have laughed too. Still he didn't need his friend laughing like _that_ at him.

"Hehehe… Sorry, _mi amigo_. I just can't believe you wanted to ask the _mujer malvada_ to be your girlfriend." Ernesto swiped at his eyes to clear the laugh tears away.

"Don't call her that. Imelda isn't a devil woman." Héctor retorted almost defensively. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't want to hear _anyone_ insulting Imelda. "And I didn't ask her to be my girlfriend. Just to pretend she was."

Ernesto snorted. "It amounts to the same thing with you. I _know_ you, Héctor. You couldn't pretend to have a girlfriend if your life depended on it."

Héctor frowned, looking more like he was pouting. "I've been _pretending_ for months. No one's noticed so far. Besides, _you_ suggested it in the first place."

"And _you_ believed me." Ernesto shrugged. "I just never thought you would carry it this far though. You should have just told everyone you broke up. Then you could have gotten some sympathy from the _chicas_."

That would probably have been easier. The break up part, not the _chica_ part. Héctor hadn't started this _estupido_ idea to use it as a ploy to get a girlfriend. Just as a way to fit in maybe. He was never very good at talking to girls as a boy and hadn't gotten much better as an adult. There wasn't a problem when he was dealing with mothers of his students, but socializing with strangers or even his fellow female teachers? _No bueno_.

In fact, Imelda was the first and, so far, only woman he found he could talk to with any ease. He couldn't think of _why_ that was.

Besides, that was more of an _Ernesto_ ploy, playing for sympathy. Ernesto had no problems with attracting female attention. Women were always fawning over him. You could almost set your watch by when there was a new one clinging to his arm. It all seemed so vapid and that wasn't the kind of relationship Héctor wanted.

Of course, he wasn't any good at attempting the kind of relationship he _wanted_ either.

Héctor sighed and slumped further on Ernesto's couch. A cold beer bottle bumped the back of his head and he took it from Ernesto. "Maybe I'll just not go." He mumbled as he brought the bottle to his mouth.

Ernesto dropped onto the cushions next to him. "If you don't want to go the break-up route, why not ask someone else? There's several women I know…"

"No. _Gracias_ Ernesto, but no. It would be a disaster."

"And it wouldn't with _Señorita_ _Zapatera_?"

Héctor merely gave a shrug. His friend was likely right, but he couldn't help the feeling that if Imelda had agreed to his crazy idea, things might have worked out to _not_ be a disaster.

* * *

When Imelda arrived at Ceci's shop the next morning with the designs for the shoes the costume designer ordered, she was still irritated from Héctor's visit. And she wasn't as able to hide her irritation as well as she had thought. So, it wasn't long before Ceci managed to get the story out of her.

And Imelda didn't understand the reaction she got from the other woman.

"Are you telling me that _Héctor Rivera_ , the guy that teaches music at the high school, asked you out on a date?" the other woman's tone was completely skeptical and Imelda started to bristle.

"You think I'm the sort of woman that _doesn't_ get asked for dates?"

Ceci waved a hand. "That's not what I meant. I just find it hard to believe _Héctor_ was the one asking. My cousin's children go to that school and I've helped out their drama department. And I've never seen that man able to string two words together sensibly in the presence of a woman."

Imelda frowned. That wasn't at all like the Héctor _she_ knew. " _¿No manches_? I can hardly get him to shut up."

"Oh?" Ceci drawled the word in a way Imelda didn't like. The seamstress eyed Imelda, her eyes traveling from the top of her head to her feet as a smirk started to form. "I wonder why _that_ is."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Imelda demanded, hands on hips. She did not appreciate that amused look. She hated it when people made judgements about her, especially about something like this.

Ceci just shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, as she turned her attention to the sketches Imelda had come up with. "These should do perfectly. My client will be very happy. How soon do you think they can be finished?"

While Imelda was grateful that Ceci moved onto more business matters, she just knew that the other woman hadn't forgotten previous subject. And that's just what happened as Imelda was about to leave.

"Briefly going back to the previous subject." Ceci said as she and Imelda headed for the door. "If you want my opinion, I think you _should_ take Héctor up on his suggestion."

Imelda looked at her aghast. "Why ever would I want to?"

She turned to face Imelda, one hand on the door handle. "Why not? From what I know and what little you've told me; he seems like a nice guy. You'd be doing him a favor. At the very least, you'd get a night out to enjoy yourself and have some fun."

"And if I make a complete fool of myself?" Imelda retorted. "I don't need people talking about me and God knows what it would do to my reputation."

"Phht. Reputation doesn't matter _that_ much here." Ceci replied, rolling her eyes. "This isn't that little town of yours, it's the big city. No one cares _that_ much about reputations. And the only people who might talk are his coworkers. And then it's Héctor's problem to deal with the fallout. Not yours."

The other woman might have a point, Imelda was willing to concede. This _wasn't_ her hometown. She didn't really have to contend with the same nosy gossips (one of the reasons she moved away in the first place) as back there. And Héctor had suggested they could _break up_ afterwards, so it wasn't like she would have to see any of those people in a social setting again. But there was _something_ that Imelda still objected to.

"I don't like lying." She said firmly. "Not even to people I don't know."

Ceci snorted. "You don't have to _say_ you're his girlfriend. Just say you're his date. That _technically_ wouldn't be a lie." She turned to open the door for Imelda. "Who knows. Maybe it won't end up being a lie anyway."

That last part was muttered and Imelda was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to hear it. So, she chose not to dignify it with any response. "I'll see you next week with the first of that order."

But as she walked home, her mind kept going back to Héctor and his crazy idea.

* * *

Héctor fidgeted with the cuff of his best suit jacket as he stood at the edge of the dance floor at the staff _Navidad_ party. He still wasn't sure this was happening. His luck was usually so bad. But here he was, at the party. With Imelda. With Imelda acting as his girlfriend.

Three days after that disastrous attempt to beg a favor of Imelda, she had come knocking on his door to inform him she had decided that, despite it being a foolish idea, she would take part in his scheme. And that he would owe her big for this. Héctor had merely nodded vigorously, too dumbstruck to say anything. And, honestly, he was more than a little afraid that if he _did_ try to say something, Imelda would change her mind again. She had given him a long stern look, then nodded once before marching away.

So the night of the party, he'd gotten all dressed up, gone to Imelda's apartment, and knocked on the door. When it opened, he'd found himself face to face with a…

… a _Diosa_ …

Imelda was a vision in a deep purple cocktail dress. Her dark hair was tied up with ribbons in an elegant knot at the back of her neck and a black choker with a deep purple stone centered on it circled her throat.

Héctor's mouth had moved faster than his brain. "You look good." he'd blurted out before mentally kicking himself. _Good_? _Good_ was the best he could come up with!? She looked more than _good_! Imelda was beautiful, gorgeous, perfect!

"I should hope so." Imelda had replied dryly. "I imagine you would want me to make a good impression on your coworkers."

"Oh, you certainly will that." He'd agreed with a grin before holding his arm out to her. "Shall we?"

Things had so far been going well. He'd introduced Imelda to several of his colleagues, the buffet was better than anyone expected, and he'd even got to dance several times with Imelda (all fast songs). She was an excellent dancer, it turned out.

Imelda seemed to be enjoying herself. She was certainly smiling enough. The only reason they weren't still dancing was because she'd needed _to go powder her nose_ or whatever it was when women weren't using a bathroom for its intended purpose. Héctor knew better than to question it.

The only blight on the evening was in the form of a little plant with green leaves and white berries that was strung up in certain places. Mistletoe. And there was even a certain gang of coworkers who were intent on getting _every_ couple under it at least once. More than once, preferably. Héctor and Imelda had managed to elude them due to the fact Héctor had spotted the threat when they first arrived. He'd been using the advantage of his height to keep an eye out for the troublesome group and steer Imelda away before they could be caught.

He didn't object to the tradition, but he really didn't want to ruin things with Imelda by being forced to kiss her. That would make things really awkward, he was sure. Not that he would have objected to kissing her. If they weren't faking their relationship, he would've taken every opportunity to kiss her. But since it was a _fake_ relationship, well… discretion seemed best.

Of course, all good things couldn't last forever. Just as Héctor was beginning to wonder how much longer Imelda would be, another's voice interrupted his train of thought.

"This sure is some _par-tay_ , ain't it?" a male voice said. Héctor turned to find one of his least favourite coworkers standing next to him. Gustavo Ramirez was the drama teacher and creating drama seemed to be his favourite pass time. And his favourite target was usually Héctor. It didn't help that, because of their respective subjects, they often had to work together.

Gustavo had also appeared to be the head of the Mistletoe Group.

"It sure has." Héctor replied neutrally. He glanced around but couldn't see any of the man's conspirators lurking about. It seemed safe enough for the moment, but he probably shouldn't let his guard down.

"So, where's that girlfriend of yours?" Gustavo asked oh-so-subtly. "I was hoping to get introduced. You sure know how to pick 'em." He grinned in a rather suggestive way. "No wonder you've been hiding her from us."

Héctor chuckled nervously. "I wouldn't say I've been _hiding_ Imelda."

The short man _hmmm_ -ed. "Does she got a sister?"

"Uh… she has… Actually…" Héctor panicked. He was sure Imelda _had_ mentioned having siblings but he could _not_ remember what.

Thankfully he was saved from making up the wrong answer. "I have brothers." Imelda said as she came up beside him, giving Gustavo a measuring look. "Younger brothers. Twins."

He nodded. "Yup. They like to confuse people by pretending to be each other. Gets me every time." That was a lie. Héctor hadn't ever met Imelda's brothers. He had no idea if that was something they would do. Imelda was now giving him a look and Héctor decided that he was probably laying it on a little thick. Time to make an escape. "Well! It looks like they've brought out some more stuff at the buffet. How about we go check it out, Imelda?"

He placed a hand at the small of her back, preparing to guide her away. They turned, but got no more than a step away.

"Not so fast, _Chor-i-zo_ ," Gustavo called out, saying the hated nickname sing-song fashion. Glancing back at the other teacher, they could see him pointing above their heads. "You're _for-get-ting_ something."

Dreading what he knew they would find, both Héctor and Imelda looked up. And, indeed, there it was.

A sprig of mistletoe. Dangling at the end of a string. Tied to a broomstick. Held in the hands of one of Gustavo's cronies. The woman grinned and wiggled the fingers of her free hand at them. Others of Gustavo's cohort seemed to materialize around them, all with matching grins.

Héctor felt the blood drain out of his face as he dared a glance at the woman standing next to him. Imelda was still looking up at the mistletoe, a slight frown drawing her brows together. Then she brought her gaze down to meet his and her eyes widened.

"Well," Gustavo called out, "what are you waiting for, _Chorizo_?"

At that Imelda's eyes narrowed again and her lips pursed together in a way that made Héctor swallow in a bit of fear. He scrambled for something to say. Some excuse to get them out of this predicament. Anything at all!

But before that could happen, he was suddenly jerked forward by a pair of hands tangled in his tie. And the next thing he knew, Imelda's lips met his.

And his mind went blank.

* * *

A part of Imelda was screaming _what are you doing?!_ This was completely unlike her. She never went around kissing… well Héctor wasn't really a total stranger, but it wasn't like they were more than barely friends. They were only _faking_ this relationship. Yet here she was, kissing Héctor in the middle of his stupid staff party. In front of his coworkers and everyone.

Imelda could admit that she was pleasantly surprised by how well Héctor cleaned up when he arrived to pick her up. Not that he was a slob the rest of the time. Just usually… scattered. His hair actually looked brushed, his goatee neatly trimmed, and his cream coloured suit fit _very_ well.

And he'd been a perfect gentleman the entire night.

Imelda had actually been enjoying herself so far. She'd always loved dancing and hadn't had as many opportunities to do so as she would have liked since moving to the city. Héctor, for all she thought he was a bit of a klutz, was a very good dancer.

Yes, she _had_ noticed the mistletoe decorations. And she was relieved (she told herself) when she noticed how Héctor steered them away from the things.

Apparently, they couldn't avoid the blasted things forever.

Héctor had froze for a moment when Imelda first yanked him into the kiss. She had clearly taken him by surprise. For a brief second Imelda had a moment of doubt (They were supposed to be a couple after all. Couples were supposed to kiss each other). Then Héctor's arms came up to circle her waist, pulling her close, kissing her back. Without consciously directing them, Imelda's hands slide from his tie up around his neck to thread into the soft hairs at the nape of Héctor's neck. She couldn't help but notice how well she fit against his lanky frame, aware of every point of contact between them.

The room, the dance music, the cheering and jeering of the crowd around them faded away. For what felt like an instant and an eternity, nothing else mattered.

Finally, the kiss ended. She and Héctor pulled back just enough to stare dazedly at each other, their breaths mingling on each other's lips. Imelda could swear she felt his heart racing just as fast as hers was. She blinked and Héctor swallowed.

"All right, all right. Geez you two, get a _room_."

And just like that, whatever magic spell that had come over them was broken.

Imelda's spine stiffened as she turned in Héctor's hold to glare at the little man that had been talking to Héctor when Imelda came up. "That is hardly necessary," she retorted coldly, "since I hope _that_ satisfies your puerile interest in such foolishness." She swept her icy gaze around at the rest of the onlookers. And more than a few had the good grace to look abashed.

The little man, when she returned her glare to him, went red. "Fine. Whatever." He huffed childishly. "Have fun with your _**girlfriend**_ , _Chorizo_."

Imelda felt Héctor flinch as the man snickered and looked around expectantly. Whatever reaction he was going for never came though. The crowd around them was quiet, avoiding each other's eyes. The man huffed again and stomped off. The rest also took the opportunity to move on as well, leaving Imelda and Héctor (relatively) alone.

"What an annoying jerk." She commented as she looked back at Héctor. "And what was that about the _chorizo_ thing?"

Héctor coughed, yanking his hands away from her hips as if they had caught on fire. He clearly just noticed where his hands were resting. Imelda tried to ignore the slight drop in her heart at the gesture. He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. "It's nothing. Just a stupid joke Gustavo likes to use."

Imelda was pretty sure that was a lie. Whatever _chorizo_ meant, whether literally or in the slang sense, it was not _nothing._ But it was also obvious that he didn't want to talk about it either. So, she let it drop. "It can't be a very funny joke, since no one was laughing."

For a moment, Héctor looked like he was going to say something, but then wisely changed his mind. Instead he said, "Imelda, I… _Lo siento._ I swear I was _trying_ … what I mean is…"

"It's all right. I know what you meant." Imelda cut in to his apology. "To be fair, however, _I_ was the one who kissed _you_. Now come here." She took his arm and pulled Héctor over to a table where napkins were laid out. Picking one up, she turned back to him.

" _¿Que pasa?_ "

She could feel a blush warm her cheeks. "You have smudges."

"Oh?" Héctor crossed his eyes as if trying to see what she meant. Then he gave a lopsided grin. "You don't think it's a good colour on me? Purple is a lovely shade."

"Indeed. I'm quite fond of it." Imelda replied, unable to keep the corners of her lips from turning up. "Still, no man looks good in lipstick smudges. Not even you."

She froze for a second as the words slipped out. She hadn't meant to voice _that_ thought out loud. The blush across her cheeks grew warmer. It took all her willpower to bring her eyes up to meet his.

* * *

Héctor felt his heart leap in his chest. He'd just realized that he was more than halfway in love with Imelda. She was the most perfect woman he'd ever known. Not only beautiful, but fierce, independent, passionate. Hell, she was able to cow an entire crowd with just a look. At any other time, he would've said that he had no chance with her. That there was no way Imelda might be interested in him. But the moment she glanced up at him wide-eyed…

 _Now,_ _ **mi amigo**_ _. It's time to seize your moment!_ A voice in the back of his head, which sounded exactly like Ernesto, said. Granted, when Ernesto talked about seizing moments, it was usually about furthering his musical career, not about romance. Still, the phrase did fit the circumstances.

"Do you want to go out for coffee?" Héctor asked abruptly. Imelda blinked and raised an eyebrow. Okay, that probably seemed way out of left field. "Sometime, not… not right now. But some day? Maybe?" Héctor cringed internally and shut his mouth. The more he talked, the worst it seemed to get. Already he was having doubts.

Imelda stared at him for what felt like forever, one hand upraised with the napkin she had picked up. Finally, she responded. "That depends. Are you asking me out on a _real_ date, Héctor Rivera?"

Those nebulous doubts faded as quickly as they started. That wasn't a no. " _Sí_ … I am…" he answered, trying to not hold his breath. "That is… if… if you want to…"

She searched his eyes for another long moment. At last that wonderful amazing tiny smile of hers appeared. "Then that is my answer… _Sí._ "


End file.
